


Year 6: Reflections and Redemptions

by Arinus



Series: Calista Snape [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 2: Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Break Up, Childhood Trauma, Complete, Dark Arts, Dark Magic, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Dreams and Nightmares, F/M, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Healthy Relationships, Hogwarts Library, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Kissing, Legilimency, Legilimens, Library Romance, Mentor Severus Snape, Nightmares, Occlumency, Parent Severus Snape, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Severus Snape Has a Heart, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Teen Crush, Teen Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-15
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-27 23:50:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 150,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15695904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arinus/pseuds/Arinus
Summary: Snape's Daughter / Calista Snape series.Shadows continue to close in on Severus Snape and his daughter, Calista, as she enters her sixth year at Hogwarts.Her relationship with Marcus is deteriorating at a rapid pace, and Calista's not certain she wants to repair it, not when she finds out how he's been treating another of her friends; and then, just when she makes her decision, terrible things begin to happen. Students are being attacked by a mysterious beast, and despite additional Prefect patrols, and Calista's own fervent research sessions with her patrol partner, the attacks are mounting faster than any answers are.Rumors begin to swirl, about a mysterious, malicious Heir of Slytherin; and again, the stigma and nightmares that come of being Bellatrix's daughter cuts devastatingly close.To make matters worse, not only is Calista a suspect in the attacks, but it soon becomes clear that the attacks are aimed at Muggleborn students, putting two of Calista's best friends squarely in the crosshairs, and driving her search for answers, and for redemption.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AU, because of addition of Severus' OC daughter, but almost completely canon-compliant other than that.  
> All canon characters are in character, including a believable, but still canon-compliant, Severus-as-a-father/Mentor!Severus
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS:  
> Flashbacks/references to child abuse (physical/magical), dark magic rituals. PTSD. Necessary for plot, no more graphic descriptions than needed. There IS recovery/redemption.

Calista Snape followed her father into the tiny, cramped kitchen of the house on Spinner's End, watching eagerly as he withdrew eggs from the icebox; she understood how  _that_  worked, there was a Permafrost Charm on it that kept the food cold - but the stove, that looked suspiciously like the one she'd seen at Amelia's house, and her friend had told her that you weren't supposed to set it on fire with your wand - so she was curious how he would cook the eggs on it.

"Hungry, are you?" he quirked a brow, noting her eyes following him.

"Not really," she said, "I just want to see - that's, erm, eclecteric, right? Amelia has one like that, and she says you're not supposed to use Incendio on it…"

Severus chuckled, despite himself. "I think the word you're looking for is  _electric_ , and actually, this one runs on gas. Ah - and you  _definitely_ should not cast Incendio on it."

She wrinkled her nose. "How does it work, then?"

"Like this," he said, and he reached for a knob at the front; he turned and it started making a rapid  _click click click_  sound. Calista stepped warily back, bumping into the table behind her.

"Uh, Dad? Nothing… nothing's happening."

"The pilot must have gone out," he mused, turning the knob back, and opening a secret door at its side that Calista hadn't noticed before. He crouched beside it, peering into it.

"The what?"

Severus glanced back at her, and the corner of his mouth twitched, as he took in the utterly bewildered expression on her face.

"The pilot," he explained, motioning for her to come closer. "It's a small flame that stays on inside the stove. When you want to cook something, you turn the knob, and it opens a valve that lets gas out. Normally, the gas catches on the pilot when it comes out of the outlets around the burners, it creates a flame. If the pilot goes out, there's nothing to start the flames, but Incendio is far too powerful - it could catch the gas and blow the whole thing up."

"What spell do you use, then?"

He quirked a brow, rising, and opened a drawer next to the stove, rummaging through it. After a moment, he produced a box of matches. "You use an entirely different sort of wand," he said wryly, striking the match, and leaning down again to relight the pilot.

This time, when he turned the knob on the front of the stove, a ring of flames appeared, and he set a dented pan over it.

"Muggle stuff is weird," Calista declared, shaking her head.

"Well, I hardly see the point in replacing something that works just fine. The icebox was different of course - did you know, if we wanted to keep things cold, we had to have a large block of ice delivered to keep in there?"

"Why didn't you just use magic?" she wondered, "The charm's not very difficult."

He glanced over his shoulder at her.

"My… my father did not like magic to be used in his home," he said, after a few seconds, turning back to the pan and cracking an egg into it.

She frowned, and squeezed past him to the worktop, to start brewing coffee. "Was he… was he afraid of it?"

Severus flicked his eyes towards her; she was concentrating on measuring out coffee grounds.

"I suppose he was."

They worked and ate in companionable silence; neither of them spoke again until they were sitting down at the small table, and both of them had finished their eggs. A second cup of coffee steamed before each of them.

"It's not very different, is it," Calista wondered, after taking a sip, "From people that refuse to acknowledge that Dark magic can be useful, because they fear it?"

"No, it's not." He reached for his own mug, wrapped his fingers around it. "Although, I suppose a more accurate comparison would be to those who blindly punish practitioners of Dark magic, even when it's being used responsibly - or, even more accurate - those who punish people simply for being  _capable_  of practising Dark magic."

"That sounds… well, that sounds pretty ignorant," Calista ventured.

"Yes," Severus said, tightly, abruptly rising from the table, and carrying his plate over to the basin. "Yes, it was."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

They developed something of a pattern, as they settled into the house. In the morning, Severus would make something for breakfast, while Calista brewed coffee. When breakfast was done, both of them would pace anxiously through the house; sometimes they would clean, sometimes they'd take a book off a shelf and page through it, and sometimes there was no pretense at all.

This would go on for perhaps an hour or two; until, through one of the small windows, one of them would spot a speck in the far-off sky.

"The results never come this early," Severus said one morning, even as he leaned over the kitchen basin and unlatched the window.

"So you've said," Calista replied, nervously.

They both exhaled when the speck grew closer, and they recognised it.

"Nox," Calista said, resigned. "Not from the Ministry, then."

Severus' owl swooped through the window and landed on the table. She was carefully removing the roll of parchment from its leg, when Severus said another one was approaching. She paused, and turned, watching through the window, as an unfamiliar owl slowly came into better focus.

It flew a bit unsteadily; it reminded Calista bit of Percy's old owl, Errol. It nearly missed the window, and Severus had to reach hastily for it to keep it from falling.

"I don't think this one's from the Ministry, either," he said, dryly, examining the letter that was attached to its leg as he lowered his arm, to let it wobble unsteadily onto their kitchen table. "Ah - the letter, however, is for you. They always are."

She untied both letters, and set them aside on the table. "What do owls eat?" she wondered, "Besides mice, I mean."

"Whatever they can catch, I expect."

She frowned at the unfamiliar owl. "He looks hungry, though. I wonder if he can catch anything."

Severus shrugged, and aimed his wand at the table, conjuring a small mouse. The owl hooted weakly, eagerly; but Nox's beak darted forward -

" _Immobulus_ ," Calista said, drawing her wand from her pocket and aiming it at her father's owl in one fluid motion; the sooty owl froze in place, and the smaller grey owl tottered after the mouse that was heading for the table's edge, picking it up in its beak just before it scrabbled away.

"At least Nox can catch something on his own," she said, and only after the mouse's tail had disappeared down the owl's gullet did she reach for the two letters.

"How long do you intend him to stay like that?" Severus asked, and Calista looked up from opening her letters, and aimed the counter-charm at the dark owl.

"Oops, sorry. I forget, my Freezing Charms last a while."

Nox's letter was from Amelia, whom Calista had written to the day before.

"Amelia hasn't gotten her scores yet either," she reported.

"Since your names are one place apart in the class roster alphabetically, I highly doubt you'll receive your scores on different days," Severus pointed out.

"Well, I just thought I'd check."

She opened the second letter; though she hadn't recognised the owl, she recognised the handwriting at once.

_Dear Calista,_

_How is your summer so far? I hope it's going well._

_I realised yesterday that I still have your_ Encyclopaedia of Ancient Runes _. I must have packed it in my trunk by mistake. I can arrange to meet you somewhere if you'd like it back right away, or perhaps you can send a different owl and I can send it through the post. I'm afraid Uruz isn't strong enough to carry it (I was having a bit of a joke when I named him - can you tell?)_

_I suppose it's too early for you to have received your O.W.L. scores yet, but when you do, let me know whether you'll be taking Advanced Arithmancy. There generally aren't enough students to justify two separate N.E.W.T. classes, so sixth and seventh years are often taught together. My class was with the seventh years last year, and I found it beneficial. It did seem that Professor Vector moved the class along at a much faster pace than in previous years._

_I've been reading more about the Patronus Charm, and I'm eager to try casting it once more, I think I might be able to do it now that I've done more research on the sorts of memories that work best. I'm tempted to practise now, but I'm not sure if the Ministry would come down on me for it, since I'm not seventeen until August. I suppose it's best to wait until then to try again, but if you hear that I've been arrested for unauthorised, underaged magic you'll know I grew impatient._

_I hope you find time to write back, and let me know what you'd like to do about your book. I'm sorry I neglected to return it during the school year._

_Sincerely,_

_Gerald C. Boot_

Calista laughed, as she slipped both letters into her pocket.

"Uruz, hm?" she said, shaking her head at the bedraggled-looking owl. "'Strength'. He might as well have named you 'Irony'..."

Severus quirked a brow. " _That_  owl is named Uruz?"

"Evidently. I'm going upstairs to answer these - you'll tell me if another owl comes, right?"

"I'll consider it."

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly, and slipped past him, heading for the stairs.

"How many times," he called after her, exasperated, "Do I have to tell you to  _put that bloody owl in its cage_?"

"Once more, it would seem," she said, a bit sheepishly, as she came back into the kitchen. She opened the back door to the cobbled yard, where an overhang protected a large wire cage from the elements.

"Put Irony in there too, if you're going to send it back with something," Severus said, mouth twitching.

Calista herded both owls into the cage, then took the stairs up to her room.

It was often a bit warm up in her room during the day, but the skylights could open to let in a breeze, and that helped.

Now that the room was fully furnished, it was Calista's favourite room that she had ever stayed in; she had her colour-changing stars bedspread on her new bed, the one that Lucius and Narcissa had given her for Christmas several years ago. There was also a yellow throw rug next to the bed, and an enormous wardrobe.

She supposed Severus had meant the wardrobe as a humorous commentary on the amount of clothing that Narcissa was forever buying her, but the sad fact was that, even when she'd thrown out the things that were too small to wear again, it was nearly full. There was a mirror mounted inside the door, too; she hadn't ripped this one off, but she did still give it dark looks on occasion.

She had filled most of the shelves against the walls with her books, but there were enough of them that was room to add more, especially since she had left her textbooks in her school trunk, which occupied one of the low corners of the room. She had two lamps in the room; one that hung from the ceiling and would light the entire space, and one small witchfire light that sat on a tiny stand next to her bed, and stayed on all the time. She hadn't even bothered pretending it was unwelcome, when he'd given it to her.

She took a quill and some parchment from her trunk, as well as a hardcover book to write against and settled onto the middle of her bed. Yellow glanced at her reproachfully from her spot on Calista's pillow, as Calista's movements interrupted her nap.

"I know, you never get to sleep, except for all day every day. Poor thing, you," she murmured, stroking the cat's forehead with two fingers until the cat started purring, and curled back up. Once Yellow had been soothed, she leaned over the parchment, careful not to press hard enough to dent the cover of the book beneath it.

_Hi Amelia,_

_I like the new house, even though I miss living close to you. It's bigger than the old flat, and I have the whole loft space to myself. My Dad says it's okay for you to spend the night here, if you want. I know last summer you didn't want to stay over at a professor's house during the summer, but now that my room is on its own floor, it will be easier for us to talk without him overhearing us._

_We have a Muggle stove at the new house that my Dad showed me how to use. It's not electric, but I still can't use Incendio on it for fear of blowing up the house. Maybe if I come to visit your house again, your parents won't have cause to think I'm so strange._

_Gerald wrote me that Advanced Arithmancy is usually a single class for sixth and seventh years. I wonder if that would make it more difficult, or just more interesting. I can't wait to get the textbook, but my Dad doesn't want to get any of the books until I choose my classes, which of course I can't do until after my O.W.L. scores come in. I suppose it makes sense, but I wish I could start reading it now._

_See you soon, I hope!_

_Calista_

She rolled the parchment up and sealed it, setting it aside on her bed, and then spread a fresh sheet over the book in her lap; she ran her fingertips over the cover of the book to be sure she hadn't damaged the cover by leaning on it, and it felt smooth and unbroken.

_Dear Gerald,_

_It's all right that you still have my book; my Dad has a copy as well, and I can always borrow his if I need it over the summer. I suppose I could send my father's owl for it later in the summer, though. I doubt he would let me meet you somewhere to get it back, unless he came along as well. He only let me go to Diagon Alley alone once last summer, to meet Marcus for ice cream._

_I'm anxiously awaiting my O.W.L. scores, but I do hope I received a high enough score to continue on to Advanced Arithmancy. I'll let you know when I find out. It would be nice to have a class together. I hope we get the same Prefect patrols this year; we can work on our research, and perhaps we can practise the Patronus Charm too, though I'm afraid I may not be able to cast it._

_Can't you practise the Charm at home now? I use magic at home in the summers all the time; Dad says the Ministry is usually fairly lenient as long as there aren't Muggles around, and anyway, they may not even be able to distinguish whether he's casting or I am. I'm not sure how fine-tuned the Trace is._

_I hope you have a nice summer!_

_Sincerely,_

_Calista_

_P.S. I gave your owl a nickname - Irony. My Dad likes it, too._

She rolled the second piece of parchment up, then stood up, slipping both letters into her pocket, and went downstairs to send them.

When she entered the sitting room, Severus was in the armchair, reading a heavy volume. He glanced up when she entered.

"You might want to read this when I'm finished; I think it would interest you."

"What is it?" she asked, stepping close; he placed his finger on his current page, then showed her the cover.

_Without a Key: Unlocking the Secrets of the Mind Through Legilimency._

"The techniques described are basic for the likes of us, of course," he said, "But there's quite a lot of theory that I think you might enjoy."

"The likes of  _us_?" she asked, slyly "Does that mean I'm nearly in a league with you now, then?"

"In some aspects," he said, "And at the rate you're progressing, I don't think it's outside of the realm of possibility that you will one day be my equal in the mental arts."

She grinned.

"Of course, to  _truly_  master either Occlumency or Legilimency, you need to master both," he told her, "And my assessment assumes of course that you continue practising with me a minimum of three hours a week."

She rolled her eyes. "For a moment, I thought you were going to praise me  _without_  turning it into a lecture. I should have known better, of course."

"Ah, what would be the fun in that?"

"You do love to ruin my summers," she said brightly, fingering the letters in her pocket idly.

"Dad?" she asked after a moment, tilting her head.

He raise his eyebrows questioningly, inviting her to go on.

"I don't suppose - Gerald borrowed one of my books at the end of term and he just wrote me that he still has it. Would you let me go to Diagon Alley to meet him and get it back?"

"Gerald Boot?"

She nodded.

"That's the second time you've mentioned him lately," he said, thoughtfully. "I wasn't aware that the two of you were very good friends - in fact, didn't you want your Prefect route reassigned so you wouldn't have to spend time with him?"

"Yes, I did," she admitted, slightly sheepish for the second time that day. "And then...and then I actually got to know him a bit, and it turns out we've read a lot of the same books, and we're both working on independent research for Charms and Ancient Runes - I told you that, I think. It's… well, I suppose the whole thing was a bit like the way I disliked Percy Weasley, when I first met him."

"Runes," Severus mused, "I suppose that inaptly named owl in our yard is Boot's, then?"

She nodded.

"You may arrange to meet him in Diagon Alley," he said, after a moment. "You can take the Floo network there; there's a grate that comes out in the Leaky Cauldron."

She blinked, hardly daring to believe that he was allowing her so much freedom. She decided not to question it, lest he changed his mind.

"Well, I'm going to mail my letters now, I suppose."

He nodded, and then returned to his book. Calista went outside, and attached Amelia's letter to Nox, letting him out and setting him out into the air. She looked thoughtfully at Uruz, and then re-latched the cage, going back into the kitchen.

She rummaged in one of the kitchen drawers and withdraw a quill. She knew her father kept parchment in here, somewhere, too… she checked a few more drawers, lifted out some sort of small metal contraption. It had teeth, and a wing-shaped lever that turned some sort of gear, and she had absolutely no idea what it was for. She'd have to ask him later - probably some Muggle thing having to do with the strange stove, she supposed.

She found a stack of slightly yellowed parchment, and withdrew a length of it, sitting down at the table to rewrite her letter to Gerald.

_Dear Gerald,_

_I don't urgently need my book back, but I could meet you in Diagon Alley to get it back if that's convenient for you. Perhaps we can go to Flourish and Blotts as well - they do have a much larger selection than the bookstore in Hogsmeade, and I'm not quite certain if I can wait until my school list comes in to visit!_

_I'm anxiously awaiting my O.W.L. scores, but I do hope I received a high enough score to continue on to Advanced Arithmancy. I'll let you know when I find out. It would be nice to have a class together. I hope we get the same Prefect patrols this year; we can work on our research, and perhaps we can practise the Patronus Charm too, though I'm afraid I may not be able to cast it._

_Speaking of which, can't you practise the Charm at home before you're officially of age? I use magic at home in the summers all the time; Dad says the Ministry is usually fairly lenient as long as there aren't Muggles around, and anyway, they may not even be able to distinguish whether he's casting or I am. I'm not sure how fine-tuned the Trace is._

_Let me know if you'd like to meet at Diagon Alley. Until then, I hope you have a nice summer, and a happy birthday!_

_Sincerely,_

_Calista_

_P.S. I gave your owl a nickname - Irony. My Dad likes it, too._

She rolled the new letter up, and carried it outside to attach to Uruz's leg. She looked the old owl over carefully before she released him, but he looked a bit perkier now than when he had arrived - she supposed the poor thing had just been unlucky, following behind Nox, who was an excellent and greedy hunter.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

A few weeks into the summer, Severus and Calista were in the midst of an Occlumency lesson when an unfamiliar owl sailed in through the kitchen window; Calista started, but Severus noted with satisfaction that the altered memory she was replaying continued seamlessly.

The owl hooted impatiently, while Severus carefully withdrew from Calista's mind. She caught sight of a shadow at the window, and just had time to duck as a second, familiar owl swooped into the kitchen.

"Your owls have been coming in pairs all summer," Severus commented, reaching for the parchment on the leg of the unfamiliar owl. Calista could see an official-looking seal on the parchment. The Ministry owl flew away promptly, as soon as its burden was removed.

"Let me see that," Calista said, earnestly, "It looks like - it has to be my O.W.L. scores."

Quaffle, Marcus' barn owl, hopped from one foot to the other on the table; she hardly noticed, as her father unrolled the parchment. She craned her neck to read it over his shoulder -

**ORDINARY WIZARDING LEVEL RESULTS**

_**Pass Grades** _

_OUTSTANDING (O)_

_EXCEEDS EXPECTATIONS (E)_

_ACCEPTABLE (A)_

_**Fail Grades** _

_POOR (P)_

_DREADFUL (D)_

_TROLL (T)_

_**Calista Snape has achieved:** _

_Arithmancy - O_

_Astronomy - O_

_Charms - O_

_Defence Against the Dark Arts - O_

_Herbology - E_

_History of Magic - E_

_Potions - O_

_Study of Ancient Runes - O_

_Transfiguration - A_

"Nine O.W.L.s," Severus said, a small note of pride creeping into his voice. "Including six Outstandings. That's certainly not bad."

"I really got all nine?" she asked, snatching the parchment and looking at it carefully - there it was, in black and white, she  _had_  passed Transfiguration, after all.

"I knew everything on the written exam for Herbology," she mused, a bit regretfully, as she stared at her scores, "But the practical portion - I'm rubbish at keeping things alive. And I  _knew_  I should have done more revision on the goblin rebellions…"

She sighed. "At least I know there was nothing else I could have done for Transfiguration - I studied that more than nearly anything else, and scraping a pass was the best I could do. I won't be taking that at the N.E.W.T. level."

"An O.W.L. alone may be good enough, depending on what you want to do," Severus said, "I suppose - Curse Breaking would probably be out, unless perhaps you want to try re-taking the class for a higher O.W.L. score and repeating a year for the N.E.W.T. class."

"Stay behind a year? Are you  _mental_? I can hardly think of anything more embarrassing. Besides, I'm not confident I would be able to do much better, even with an additional year of study."

Quaffle hooted indignantly at being ignored, and ruffled his feathers.

"Very well, then," Severus said, glancing at the owl briefly. "We never filled out a course selection form for you for next year; we'll have to complete it by the end of summer, so you should be considering carefully which subjects you'd like to continue in."

"Well, I already know I'm taking Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, Charms, Potions, and Defence," she said, "I suppose it's best if I keep Astronomy as well, since it's useful for Arithmancy."

"You might want to consider taking an official Elective Study period, as well. There are certification exams available in a variety of subjects; some of them are meant to be taken after completing a post-graduate internship, but some can be taken directly after graduating from Hogwarts."

"What sorts of subjects do they have exams for? Would my Occlumency lessons count?"

Quaffle hooted again and stuck his leg out; Calista rolled her eyes and tore the letter off, stuffing it carelessly in her pocket. "Go on, then, shoo," she said, waving her hand at the owl. "You've delivered your letter."

The owl glared reproachfully, and ruffled its feathers again, but it obeyed, sailing out the open window at last. Severus turned his head slightly, watching it go.

"There is no official exam for either Occlumency or Legilimency," he said presently, turning back to his daughter, and picking up the thread of their conversation. "There aren't enough practitioners, and those that exist are quite secretive about it, for obvious reasons."

"Well, what sort of exams are there, then?"

"Alchemy, Advanced Magical Theory, Non-verbal spells, that sort of thing. There's a dedicated Poisons and Antidotes exam as well - I've served as an advisor for students wishing to take that exam in order to pursue a career in the Healing Arts. I think you'd do well at that."

Calista scarcely heard anything he said after three particular words. "Advanced Magical Theory?" she asked eagerly, "There's an exam for that?"

"There is. I… I would recommend seeking your advising from Filius - Professor Flitwick - for that particular exam. I understand he's guided several students through it before."

"I wonder what sorts of texts I'd need for that class…"

"It's not a true class," Severus cautioned. "More of a guided independent study. I, for example, give my Poisons and Antidotes charges access to the Potions classroom at the weekend for them to practise, and they merely present me with their finished potions and an essay explaining what they did. Occasionally, I recommend a particular potion they may want to attempt, but it's largely up to them - within the approved list of potions the school will allow, of course."

His lip curled a bit at the mention of approved potions. "One must hope those that do go into the healing arts never encounter someone who has been poisoned in an 'unapproved' fashion," he continued, "Or I expect they'll be quite useless at reversing it."

"I've never seen a Potions class in there at the weekend," she said, curiously.

"You wouldn't; I don't allow many students. One or two a year. Three at most; always seventh years, up until now - and I require, of course, that they have achieved an Outstanding on the Potions O.W.L. and are on track to achieve the same on their N.E.W.T. exam. Ah - and I don't accept anyone who's ever blown up a cauldron in my class."

"You said always seventh years, 'up until now'," she said, "Are you letting sixth years study with you this year, then?"

"I… may allow one," he said, cryptically.

"I wish I could write to Professor Flitwick now," she said, anxiously, "And ask him about the Magical Theory exam; I hope he hasn't filled all of his slots."

Severus' mouth twitched, something wry but not quite a smile. "I expect he will be quite willing to accommodate you."

"I hope so." She remembered the letter in her pocket at last. "I suppose I should go read my other letter."

"Ah, yes - from Mr. Flint," he said, almost sulkily.

She picked up on it. "I thought you liked him."

"I appreciate that he cares for you; I don't appreciate, as much, the nature of some of his  _other_  feelings towards you."

"You said I shouldn't break up with him," she reminded him.

He looked at her, eyes giving nothing away. "Not quite. If you'll recall, I advised refraining from doing so if the fear of having to explain, at a future junction, a particular situation was your  _only_  reason for considering it."

Her scars. She suppressed a shiver. She would never explain it, to him or anyone; she didn't see how she could.

"I'm going upstairs," she said, because she didn't want to think about  _that_  anymore - and she also certainly didn't want to think, in front of him, about the time that Marcus had nearly discovered the scars, and precisely how that had happened.

She went up to her room, and sat on the edge of her bed, unrolling Marcus' letter.

_Hey Calista -_

_The most amazing thing's happened! My dad got tickets from work to go to France for the first qualifying match of the Quidditch World Cup! The best part is, he's got four tickets, and my parents say I can bring you with the extra one! Derek wants to go, but you're much prettier than he is so I think I'd rather go with you even though he likes Quidditch more. (Haha)_

_Speaking of that I know you don't like Quidditch that much but by parents are planning on us all going to France a few days before the match too so I'm sure we would have lots of time to do stuff that we both like. They won't bother us, but maybe you should tell your dad they will so he lets you come. I wish you were seventeen now too so you wouldn't have to ask him._

_The game's the last week of July so let me know soon if you're coming. Please tell me you are, whatever you have to tell your dad!_

_Love, Marcus_

Calista felt a rapid succession of things in turn and then all at once, as she read Marcus' letter: irritation, nerves, an anxious, fluttery sort of  _something_  that made her heart pound and her cheeks burn, despite herself - a flash of anger - and then, when she reached the end, she felt nothing but…

Well, stunned.

She stared at the last two words of the letter, and every single one of the feelings that had just coursed through her retreated, leaving her only hollow, dumbfounded - ah, but then the nerves returned.

_Love, Marcus_

He had never signed any of his letters like that before. She thought, suddenly, of one of the last conversations they'd had, at the end of term.

He'd threatened to tear pages from her books if she caused him to worry about her again.

 _You can't,_ she'd told him, panicked,  _I love my books_.

 _Yeah. Exactly_.

She'd wondered if he meant to say what it sounded like he was saying, but it hadn't seemed - of course he hadn't, right?

She stared at the words again, as if they would change, but they remained, stubbornly, the same.

_Love, Marcus_

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

The day after her O.W.L. scores came, she had two more letters - one from Amelia, excitedly sharing that she had  _also_  earned nine O.W.L.s, and four Outstandings, in Potions, Transfiguration, Herbology, and Defence. She also made a plan to come stay at Calista's house the following weekend, for which Calista was  _exceedingly_  grateful; she'd lain awake most of the night wondering how in Merlin's name she was meant to respond to Marcus' letter.

She'd briefly considered asking her aunt for advice, but she remembered Narcissa's advice the last time she'd asked her thoughts on her and Marcus' relationship, and recalled how Narcissa had come very close to offering to help Calista sneak around and break her father's rules. What if Narcissa offered to try to convince Severus to allow her to  _go_  to the Quidditch Match? She didn't know yet if she even  _wanted_  to - and she certainly didn't want to do it if it meant lying to or misleading her father to get permission.

Now that Amelia was coming over though, it seemed a perfect solution - she simply wouldn't write back to him after she'd had a chance to get her best friend's input. Even though Amelia hadn't really dated anyone, she  _did_  seem to understand relationships a bit better than Calista did - and her advice two summers ago, on how to write back to Marcus had admittedly been good.

The second owl Calista received that day was borne by an elderly, ragged-looking owl with an ill-fitting name; she had smirked when she'd seen it flap its way unsteadily through the kitchen window. It looked hopeful when she removed its letter, so she asked her father to conjure another mouse for it, not quite trusting that her own Transfiguration ability was enough to do so herself.

She opened the letter while the owl gulped down the mouse, leaned against the kitchen worktop to read it.

_Dear Calista,_

_Meeting in Diagon Alley sounds like a great idea, especially the part about spending some time in Flourish and Blotts. I've been working part-time there this summer, actually, so I have an employee discount now, which I'm of course happy to let you use. I have Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays entirely free, but if you would rather go at the weekend, I can switch some of my Saturday hours with someone._

_I must admit, I'm surprised that you're afraid you would have difficulty with a Patronus Charm - you're quite good at Charms (in fact, I'd wager you're 'Outstanding' - have you received your scores yet?). The trick is not, as you might think, selecting your most pleasant memories as inspiration, but rather those which produce the strongest, most ingrained positive emotional response. I've just finished reading a very interesting book that suggests these memories may even sometimes be linked to mixed emotional responses - overcoming a long-standing fear, perhaps. Even though the fear is part of the emotional response, the triumph is the important piece, and aids in the formation of the corporeal Patronus. I don't know if I'm doing the book justice, really, but I definitely recommend it. It's called_ Out of the Darkness, Light,  _and it's written by Syrio Sparkman. I think I'd like to read through it again, but I'll lend it to you after that, if you'd like._

_Let me know when you'd like to meet. Perhaps I'll have finished re-reading the Sparkman by then and I can bring it along for you to borrow._

_Sincerely,_

_Gerald C. Boot_

_P.S. Uruz must not mind the nickname, as he was quite keen to carry this letter to you._

After she'd cleared it with her father, she wrote him back that she could meet the following Wednesday. He wanted her to check in with Emily Yaxley's mother, Ferada, at the bookstore, who would notify Severus if she did not do so, and he wanted her to come home by three o'clock.

She wondered if he had written to Emily's mother, or perhaps even called her, earlier in the summer to work out that detail of the plan, and she supposed he very likely had - and really, it fit that he would ensure there were extra precautions in place before he allowed her additional freedoms, didn't it? It was a bit awkward, since she and Emily were only fairly friendly these days, but she supposed it was worth it, if it meant she was finally going to be allowed to travel places by herself.

When she released Uruz out the kitchen window, he nearly collided with another owl on its way through; after an awkward midair dance, Quaffle flew in and perched on the back of a chair, sticking its leg out.

Calista frowned, feeling a familiar tangle of nerves start up in her stomach. She reached for the letter, and unrolled it.

_Calista -_

_Did you get my last letter? My owl came back without a reply, but he didn't have the letter I wrote you either so I figure he must've found you._

_If you're worried about asking your dad about coming to France with me and my parents, don't worry, I had an idea. I could ask my mum to write your aunt to let her know we wanted to take you. My mum is great at talking people into things - that's how come she got my dad to agree to go to some boring museum with her, which means you and me can have the cottage we're renting to ourselves for a few hours._

_I can't wait til the match - please tell me you'll come. I miss you a lot already._

_Love, Marcus_

_P.S. Oh yeah, I almost forgot you had OWLs this year, how many did you end up getting?_

Quaffle fidgeted expectantly. Calista frowned, and re-read the letter; nothing changed - not the part where he seemed to be insinuating that she should forego asking her father's permission altogether and ask her aunt instead, and not those last two words…

"Is something wrong?"

Calista started, and looked up; her father was in the doorway, watching her with mild concern. He glanced at the owl, and a small frown crossed his face.

"Marcus… Marcus invited me to a Quidditch game," she said, uncertainly.  _In France_ , she thought wildly; she couldn't go to  _France_ , her father would  _never_  let her leave the country alone - and she didn't even  _want_  to.

She glanced back down at the last two words of the letter.

 _Love, Marcus_.

That is, she didn't  _think_  she wanted to go…

"I know you're not particularly enamoured of Quidditch, but you look as if he's invited you to spend the night in the Shrieking Shack."

 _Spend the night_ … she suppressed a shiver, with effort.  _Why_  did he have to phrase it like that?

"How do you know," she asked, without quite realising she was going to, "If you… if you love someone. Not… not like family, I mean?"

Severus' eyebrows retreated nearly to his hairline, then came crashing back down. "You don't," he snarled. She wasn't quite certain whether he meant she didn't love someone, or she didn't know if she did, and she certainly wasn't going to ask him to make the distinction when he looked like  _that_.

"Well, I know I don't  _now_ ," she said hastily, because the look on his face was frankly terrifying.

_I don't think so, anyway._

"I mean," she tried again, trying to look as innocent as possible and wishing she'd never asked the question. "Someday. How will I know?"

His eyes scanned her face; he seemed to be looking for reassurance that her question was purely theoretical - she didn't know if he was swayed by her affected expression or not, but he did appear to calm down a great deal.

" _If_  it ever happens," he said finally, inexplicably casting a dubious look at the owl that was still perched on the back of one of the kitchen's chair. "You won't need to ask."

She frowned, and he mirrored it, stepping closer.

"Where is this Quidditch match, anyhow?" he asked, "The ones in London often go late into the night, and the crowd can be rough."

"It doesn't matter," she said, crumpling the letter up, and stuffing it into her pocket. "I don't want to go."

She made to slip past him; he sighed.

"The owl, Calista," he reminded her.

"Oh. Right." She waved her hands at the owl. "Go on, Quaffle. I'm not writing back today."

Severus looked at her oddly. "Shouldn't you tell him you don't wish to go?"

"I will. Just… not right now. I have… erm, I'm in the middle of a book," she said vaguely. She squeezed past him, and retreated upstairs to her room.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

On Saturday afternoon, Severus Apparated himself and Calista to the Manchester station to meet Amelia's train, since her parents were Muggles and her fireplace wasn't connected to the Floo network. Calista watched anxiously for her friend to appear -

"Amelia!" she said, as her friend's familiar head of thick brown hair came into view.

"Calista!" Amelia responded with mirrored enthusiasm, "You'll  _never_ guess what's happened - Oh."

Amelia's eyes had flicked over to where Severus stood, at Calista's shoulder.

"Er, hello again, sir."

"Hello, Amelia," he said, not unkindly.

"I asked him not to act too  _professory_ ," Calista confided quietly, "We'll see if he can manage it."

Amelia stifled a grin, as Severus led both girls to the bus. He took Amelia's overnight bag, and ushered the girls on, though he stayed outside himself. Amelia had never been Apparated before, and was apprehensive, so they'd arranged for the two girls to take the bus back. Severus waited until they both boarded, and the bus was pulling away from the curb, before he Apparated himself back to the house.

"You'll never guess what's happened," Amelia said for the second time.

"Neither will  _you_ ," Calista said, fervently.

"All right, but me first," Amelia insisted, repositioning herself in her seat so that her back was to the window, and she was facing Calista. She leaned close, and lowered her voice dramatically. "Penny wrote me yesterday. She had Percy over last week, so they could play chess and congratulate each other on how well they colour-code their notes, or whatever, and Percy  _kissed_  her."

Calista blinked. "I thought thought they believed relationships only distract from schoolwork."

"Well, it's summer, isn't it?" Amelia said, craftily. "And anyway, she kissed him back, and now they're an item.  _Finally_."

"It does seem a bit overdue," Calista agreed, with a small smile. "They're… they're good together, though, I think."

"A perfect match," Amelia said, rolling her eyes. " _Too_  perfect; I expect we'll be sick of it by ten minutes into the train ride back to school. So… what's your news?"

"I'll… I'll tell you later," Calista said, "Actually, I'd rather  _show_  you… I got these strange letters from Marcus, and I don't know how to respond…"

"This again?" Amelia asked brightly, "I told you, just tell him how much you can't wait to suck his face again -"

"Not helpful," Calista said firmly; then she glanced curiously at her friend. "Do you think… do you think Marcus and I are a good match?"

Amelia frowned, furrowing her brow; behind her, Calista saw a dreary grey landscape slide by, as the bus sighed and squealed its way through Manchester and out into the suburbs.

"Well, it's not like Penny and Percy, that's for sure," Amelia said, "I mean - you and Marcus, you don't have many interests in common, really - except sucking face -" she grinned; Calista blushed, and frowned slightly.

"But that's all right, isn't it?" Amelia continued, "I mean, you're happy… most of the time. Right?"

"I guess."

"Well, that's what matters; how does the phrase go - opposites attract? And he does look pretty fit these days if that's your type - I swear he's gotten more muscular than the rest of the whole school's Quidditch teams combined."

Soon, the bus was noisily pulling into the station at Cokeworth.

"All right," Calista said, "Not another word about Marcus until we're in my room, all right?"

"Duh," Amelia said, "I'm not about to talk about relationships in front of your  _dad_."

The walk from the station to the river and then to Spinner's End was about fifteen minutes, and they chatted about classes on the way. Both of them were taking many of the same classes, which meant that for a lot of them, they'd be together - most N.E.W.T. classes were small enough that the four houses were combined. Calista reported back to Amelia what Gerald had said about the Arithmancy class possibly being shared between sixth and seventh years as well, and Amelia confirmed that she had heard the same thing.

As the girls approached the front door, Severus opened it to let them in, and he almost managed to look like he hadn't been watching for them at the window.

Amelia took her bag from where Severus had left it beneath the window, and Calista led her upstairs.

"Wow," Amelia said, when they reached the top, and climbed through the trapdoor. "This room is  _wicked_."

Severus had conjured a large, squashy pillow that was almost the size of an extra bed, especially for their sleepover; Amelia flopped herself onto it now, tossing her bag aside.

" _So,_ " Amelia said, "What's your news? It can't be as good as Penny and Percy…"

Calista sighed, and perched on the corner of Amelia's oversized pillow. "Marcus… Marcus invited me to go with him and his family to France for three days for a Quidditch match."

Amelia sat up, eyes going wide and round. "You're going to  _France_? I'm so jealous."

"I'm not  _going_ ," Calista said, rolling her eyes. "Do you really think my dad would let me go to another country with my boyfriend for three days?"

"Oh," Amelia considered, looking a bit disappointed. "I suppose not. What about - what about your aunt? Could she talk him into it?"

"Well, Marcus evidently thinks so," she said, darkly; she stood abruptly, and strode across the room, pulling two crumpled sheets of parchment from where she'd stuffed them into the pockets of her least favourite school robes. "Read these, and tell me what you think. I… I haven't written a reply yet."

Amelia scanned both sheets; when she was finished, she let out a low whistle.

"So… so what do you think?" Calista asked anxiously.

"Well," Amelia said, "First off, he's not very subtle, is he? The only thing he could've done to make it clearer he's hoping to sleep with you is enclose a naked picture."

Calista winced, and felt her face light up like it was a gas stove and Amelia had cast Incendio on it. "Shhhh! My dad is  _home_ , you know. And...gross! It doesn't actually  _say_  that…"

Amelia raised her brows practically to the ceiling. "Yes, it does. Practically."

"He knows I can't until I'm of age, anyway."

Amelia snorted. "Boys don't care about rules," she said, authoritatively. "He wants you in France to get in your pants, I'm telling you."

" _Amelia!_ "

"Well, it's true."

"Forget about that rubbish," Calista mumbled; she was starting to regret asking Amelia's opinion. "What about… what about the way he  _signed_  the letters?"

Amelia shrugged. "What about it?"

"Well, he's never signed it like that before, and - and there was something he said, at the end of term…" she quickly filled her friend in on the story, on what Marcus had said.

"So, he's suicidal," Amelia commented, "Because he must know you'd kill him if he tore any of your books. Other than that, though… I mean, don't you think he might be  _saying_  that to try to…"

She cast about a moment. "Well, to 'get to France'?" she finished, meaningfully.

"Well, what if he does… you know…"

"Love you?"

Calista prickled; "I guess, maybe."

"Do you love him?" Amelia pressed on. Calista shrugged.

"How should  _I_  know? I've never - I don't - I have no idea."

"Well…" Amelia thought, frowning. "How did you feel when you read his letters?"

"Honestly?"

Amelia nodded, encouragingly.

"Well, they make me nervous, I guess… I mean… what he was saying… what  _you're_  saying... I mean, I'm not  _stupid_ , the thought obviously occurred to me that he could be hoping for… for  _that_. But isn't it possible he just meant… you know, so we could just… just kiss, or whatever? I mean, he  _knows_  I won't - can't do  _that_."

Amelia snorted. "Yeah, I always rent private cottages in France when I want to just innocently peck someone on the cheek."

"Well, I -"

Severus' voice came, suddenly, faintly through the floorboards:

"Calista!"

Calista started. "D'you think he heard what we were saying?" she wondered, anxiously.

"There's no way," Amelia said, but she didn't look precisely convinced. She followed Calista to the trapdoor; Calista pulled it open just as her father's voice came again, from the bottom of the attic stair.

"Calista. You have a call on the fire."

"I do?" she frowned, starting down the stairs. "Is it Aunt Narcissa?"

Marcus hadn't gone ahead and had his mother write to her without Calista's approval, had he? Just the thought made a spark of fury flare up in her chest -

"No," Severus said, allowing Calista and Amelia to pass before following them down, "It's the Flint boy; he asked me if you were all right before he asked to speak with you. Is there something going on that I should know about - some reason you  _wouldn't_  be all right?"

"Erm…"

"No, sir," Amelia piped up, as they neared the bottom landing of the second flight of stairs, "It's just, Calista hasn't been returning his letters."

" _Amelia!_ " Calista hissed, even though she supposed Severus already knew she hadn't returned at least one.

"I see," Severus said, as the three of them reached the bottom, and entered the sitting room. The screen that normally guarded the fireplace had been set aside, and Marcus' face floated in the hearth, amidst a small flame.

"Calista," Marcus said, sounding relieved. "You  _are_  all right."

"Of course I am…" she glanced pointedly over her shoulder; Amelia retreated back to the bottom stair, so she was hidden from view. Severus for a moment looked very much as if he intended to stay in the room, standing just behind Calista - but when he caught sight of her expression, he sighed, and pressed his mouth into a line.

"I suppose it's time I went to fetch something for dinner," he said, sounding as if he were nearly wrenching the words out of his mouth. "I'm just heading down to the fish and chips shop a few streets over; I'll be back in fifteen minutes, at which time I expect this fire to be out."

Calista nodded; she waited until he had gone out and she heard the  _click_  of the key in the lock before she looked back at the fire.

"Why did you call me?" she asked.

Marcus blinked, and furrowed his brow. "Well, you weren't getting my letters… I thought something might be wrong, if my owl wasn't finding you."

"Quaffle found me just fine," she said, unable to keep a mild note of irritation from her voice, "I got your letters."

He looked bewildered, and hurt. "But then - why didn't you answer them?"

"I was… I was going to," she ventured, "Soon. I just… I didn't really know what I was supposed to say."

Marcus laughed easily. "That's easy, say you're coming to France with me."

"You know I can't."

"You didn't ask him already, did you?" Marcus wondered, "He didn't seem like he wanted to poison me when I called you up, so I figured you hadn't."

Amelia snorted from her vantage point in the doorway; Calista cut her a warning glare, and her friend pressed her hands to her mouth.

"No, I didn't ask him," Calista said, "And I'm not going to."

"Oh." Marcus' face lit up. "So you  _are_  going to ask your aunt, then? I can have my mum write her tonight…"

"No," Calista said again, "Please don't do that. I don't want - I don't want to ask my aunt, either. I don't want to - Marcus, I don't know if I even want to go."

"What do you mean you don't  _want_  to go?" he asked, bewildered. "I mean…I know you don't care that much about Quidditch, but the match probably won't be more than a few hours, and I thought - I thought you'd want to come to see  _me_."

"Marcus," she said, sighing. "Of course I want to see you, but… you know, there's a big difference between going with you to Diagon Alley, or… or going flying at school, or walking by the lake - and, and - going to  _France_  for three days."

"Yeah," he said, "I  _know_. That's why I thought it would be so great…"

"Well," she said, quietly, "I just… I don't think that I'm ready to do something like that, yet, even if I was allowed to."

"Calista, we've been dating  _forever_ ," Marcus said, "When  _are_  you going to be ready?"

She felt a small, hard stone settle into her stomach; she didn't think they were only talking about going away somewhere, anymore.

"It doesn't matter," she said, avoiding his question, because she didn't know the answer and she certainly didn't want to talk about this while Amelia lurked in the stairwell, listening, and her father would be home any minute. "There's precisely zero chance that I'd be allowed to go, even if I  _did_  want to, so I don't see the point in discussing this any further."

"I don't just mean about that," Marcus said, "When are you going to be ready to -"

Calista heard Severus' key in the lock; she sat up straight, and cut in before Marcus could finish his question.

"I have to go now."

"Calista, come on -" Marcus started. Severus was entering the sitting room and locking the door behind him, a greasy and delicious-smelling paper bag balanced in one arm.

"'Bye, Marcus. I'll - I'll write to you tomorrow, all right? I promise."

"I-" Marcus' mouth opened again, but then, as Severus crossed his line of sight on his way into the kitchen, he abruptly closed it again, and shook his head.

"'Bye," he muttered, eyes shadowed, as she severed the Floo connection.

Amelia came out from her hiding place in the stair, and made wide eyes at Calista, who simply shook her head forcefully.

"Don't say anything," she whispered, and Amelia nodded her consent; the two of them went into the kitchen

"What did Flint want?" Severus asked, as they all sat down at the worn old table with paper-wrapped packages of fish and chips.

"Oh. Just… I never answered his last couple of letters, so I guess he wanted to make sure nothing was wrong."

"I see. I assume you also told him that you aren't going to the Quidditch match he invited you to?"

Amelia glanced at Calista questioningly, and Calista mouthed  _Later_  at her, with a pointed sort of look.

"Erm, yeah, I told him that," Calista said. "I think he's going to bring Derek Logan instead."

She tried to keep her expression clear, and spoke what she judged to be enough to avoid arousing suspicion, and told herself that the hard coil in her stomach was because of the greasy fish.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

It was a strange sort of day on Wednesday, when she went to Diagon Alley to meet Gerald - drizzly and grey but still warm and humid. It was hard to know how to dress - she ended up carrying a lightweight cloak over her arm in case the rain started coming harder later on.

She stepped carefully out of the grate, went into the back alley, and tapped her wand against the wall; it opened up, and she stepped onto the cobbled street; she was supposed to meet him in front of the bookstore, so she made her way there, eyes flicking from person to person as she sought him out.

There - she saw him at the mouth of a narrow alley beside Flourish and Blotts - the one she'd run down, a few summers ago, when she'd run into Tonks' mother Andromeda and thought wildly that she was Bellatrix… she pushed that thought away, just as Gerald caught sight of her, and waved.

"Hi," she said, as she drew even with him; then she noticed there was someone standing next to him, a smaller boy with something of the same look to him - the same neat brown hair, the same medium brown eyes.

"Sorry," Gerald said, catching her look, and glancing at the younger boy. "My little brother, Terry - he wanted to come along, and my mum asked me to take him. She's off work today, and I think she wanted the house to herself for the day. Terry, this is my friend, Calista."

"Hi," they both said, simultaneously; then Terry turned to his brother. "Can I go to Gambol and Japes now?"

"Yes, all right," Gerald said, "But be careful - don't talk to anyone you don't know, unless of course they work in the store, and make sure you meet us back here at one o'clock exactly, for lunch, all right?"

"All right," Terry said, and he started to walk quickly away.

"Oh, one more thing," Gerald called after him, "That's one o'clock British Summer Time - and I know you heard me, Terry, you'd better be back in time."

Terry waved his hand to indicate he had heard, and sped up even further.

"Sorry," Gerald said again, "You have to be very specific with him - he's quite fond of loopholes."

She quirked her mouth slightly, not sure if he'd be annoyed if she was amused.

"I have your book," Gerald said, carefully handing over a book-shaped package that was wrapped neatly in black plastic. "I wrapped it, then once I got here, I put a Waterproofing Charm on it - I was worried about rain."

"Thanks," she said, taking the book. She settled it over the cloak on her arm, and smiled. "I got my O.W.L. marks."

"Yeah?" Gerald brightened. "How many did you earn?"

"Nine," she said, "Six Outstanding."

Gerald grinned, adjusting his glasses. "That's brilliant," he said, "Let me guess which ones you received an 'O' in - Charms, of course."

She nodded.

"Ancient Runes?"

She nodded, again.

"Potions, I expect," he mused, ticking them off on his fingers, "Herbology. Did you get Arithmancy? That one was quite difficult, as I recall."

"I got an 'E' in Herbology," she said, "My fanged geraniums were wilted. My other 'O' scores were Defence Against the Dark Arts, Astronomy," she paused, with a small smile. "And Arithmancy."

"Oh, excellent, I'm really glad you got Defence," Gerald said earnestly, "After you had to be excused from class, and all. Do you think you'll continue on in Arithmancy, then?"

"Of course. Amelia, too, and Penny and Percy, so I guess we'll five of us have class together."

"Excellent," Gerald said again.

A large drop of rain landed suddenly in his hair, and Calista felt one hit the back of her hand.

"Let's go inside," he said, ushering her through the doorway first, "We just got a new Lovenworth in, it's filed under History, I'll show you."

They went into the bookstore - Gerald was greeted warmly by the staff, including Emily's mother, who also greeted Calista and said that Emily missed her - couldn't she come around again this summer?

She responded vaguely that she might, and made polite small talk for a few minutes. Mrs. Yaxley told her proudly that Emily had earned eight O.W.L.s, but then she had to get back to work, and Calista went back to perusing the Magical Theory section.

Sometimes, she and Gerald were in the same section, even poring over the same books, but at other times they were each drawn separate ways. A few times, one of them had found something to show the other one - Gerald still seemed able to find delightful surprises on the shelves, even though he spent hours every week working there. It was, altogether, the most companionable time she'd  _ever_  spent in a bookstore with someone, even more so that with Amelia - even more so than with her  _father_ , who often wanted to leave before she was quite ready.

She purchased two books, the new Lovenworth he'd shown her, and  _Formulaic Arithmancy_. Gerald had someone ring them up using his discount, and she sat in a chair, looking through the indexes; she found it more helpful than the Table of Contents for deciding which parts would be the most interesting. She'd read the books in order, of course, but she liked the anticipation.

"Calista," Gerald said, after a little while, and she looked up, wondering what book he'd found this time - but he was frowning at his watch, instead. "It's three minutes past one, and Terry hasn't come back yet. I have to go seek him out."

"Only three minutes?" she wondered, "Maybe his watch is slow."

"It's not," Gerald sighed. "I checked his time against mine before you got here. He's found some loophole, I'm certain of it. You don't have to come, I can return for you once I've found him."

"No, that's all right," she said, quickly, gathering up her books and her cloak from her lap, "I'll help you look."

As it turned out, they didn't need to search for long. Terry was standing calmly at the mouth of the alley next to the shop, a bright purple shopping bag in his hand.

It had stopped raining; the sun was straining to break through the grey cloud cover, and the wet cobbles shone.

"You're -" Terry looked down at his watch, "Four minutes and twenty...seven seconds late."

"You were supposed to come into the store," Gerald said.

"No," Terry countered, "You said to 'meet you back here' - and right here is where we were standing; ergo, here I am."

Gerald sighed, and shook his head slightly, glancing at Calista. "A loophole; I told you."

"It's a little bit funny," Calista said, hoping admitting it wouldn't annoy him, "It reminds me of the kinds of things I used to say when I was younger. Once, when I was nine or so my father said he wouldn't take me into the forest until I was older, and my counter was 'I'm older now than I was when you said that'."

Gerald laughed. "Sometimes it's hard to believe…"

"Did it work?" Terry interrupted, keenly.

"Unfortunately, no," Calista said, and then she looked over his head at Gerald, "Hard to believe what?"

"That you're not a Ravenclaw."

"Well," she said, "Both of my parents were in Slytherin… I'm told it almost always goes that way; I don't think the Hat likes to break patterns."

He glanced at her curiously; she realised, too late, what she'd said - she wasn't sure if he knew who her mother was, though he did know that Draco was her cousin. If he  _didn't_  know, she certainly didn't want to get into it now. She made her expression carefully neutral, and said, brightly, "Where are we going for lunch? It's my treat - I owe you for helping me study for my Defence exam."

"You don't owe me anything," Gerald started to say, but Terry grinned.

"Ice cream for lunch," he suggested.

"Absolutely not," Gerald said sternly, but kindly. "There's a decent cafe a few blocks up," he suggested, and Calista nodded.

Gerald and Calista started talking about books again, as they ate; at first, Terry was listening to them, but after a little while, he grew bored and started fidgeting.

"That's one of the things I really like about the Sparkman book, now that I'm on my second read-through," Gerald was saying earnestly, "He's not afraid to overturn convention -"

"Wow," Terry said, interrupting, "Gerry, you are  _such_  a swot. It's  _summer break_ , for crying out loud."

"Fine, fine," Gerald said, colour rising into his cheeks, "I know, you want to go back to joke shop -"

"No," Terry said, "Now I want to go to get ice cream."

Gerald sighed. "Fine. Let's go, then."

They made their way back the direction they'd come, and got on line at Florean Fortescue's; this time, Gerald insisted on paying, since Calista had bought lunch. They stood in a spot by the corner of the shop, near a table where Calista wrapped her books in her cloak and set them down.

"So," Calista asked, as they stood near the shop, finishing their ice cream, "Have you managed to practise the Patronus Charm yet, then?"

He shook his head. "No… erm, I haven't been able to give it a try, yet. Maybe when we're back at school…"

"The Ministry really isn't as strict about it as they'd like you to think," she reassured him, "I always use magic at home; my Dad even gives me extra lessons sometimes."

For a second, Calista thought Gerald looked mildly uncomfortable, but it passed quickly - she wondered if it had been a shadow, a trick of the light.

" _We_  can't," Terry said, "The Ministry would never let us get away with it, because of Mum."

"Terry," Gerald sighed again, reproachfully.

Calista looked at him again; there it was, the discomfort. Gerald pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose,and took a breath that Calista suspected was steadying, opening his mouth to speak.

She interrupted him before he could. "If there's something about your mum that you don't want to tell me," she said quickly, "You don't have to. I don't care - it doesn't matter to me what it is."

Gerald looked relieved, but Terry opened his mouth again.

"It's nothing  _bad_ ," he said, "We're just not allowed to use magic in front of a Muggle. Everyone knows that."

"Terry!"

"You said she's one of the nice Slytherins," Terry said, stubbornly. "If that's true, then she shouldn't care."

"I don't," Calista said quickly, looking at Gerald. "I mean - I don't have a problem with it, obviously. My best friend is Muggle-born, remember?"

"See?" Terry smirked. "You were worried for nothing. Now you can invite her. You're welcome."

"Invite me?" Calista wrinkled her nose, curiously. "Invite me where?"

"My mum's having a birthday party for me, next month," Gerald said, "At… at our house. You don't have to come of course, but I was planning on inviting Amelia as well, if you… if you do want to."

Calista blinked. "A birthday party? Those are real?"

Gerald blinked now, rapidly, behind his glasses, and studied her face, as if looking for a sign that she was having him on.

"Yeeesss," he said, slowly. "Of course they're real - haven't you ever - haven't you ever had one?"

She shook her head. "I've never even  _been_  to one - I've only read books where someone has one. I didn't think… I didn't realise it was something people actually  _do_."

"It's not that weird that she hasn't, is it?" Terry piped up, "I mean, honestly, can you imagine Professor Snape baking a cake and having loads of kids over his house? Who would even go?"

"Terry!" Gerald scolded. "That's… that's not very nice."

"Not because of her," Terry continued, "I think everyone would just be a little bit afraid he'd poisoned the cake, is all."

"I'm sorry," Gerald said, looking pained; Calista fought to keep a straight face. "Terry, I keep telling you, Professor Snape is perfectly reasonable if you'd just show him some  _respect_  in class… "

"Don't worry," Calista said, "Making people think he's going to poison them is one of my dad's favourite pastimes; I'm not offended - I'm sure he'd be pleased to know it's so effective."

"Speaking of your dad," Gerald said, hesitantly. "I've been wondering…"

"He doesn't actually poison people," she assured him, "At least, not that I'm aware of."

"That's not what I was going to ask," Gerald said, "Although, it does have to do with poison… There's a certification exam I want to take this year, on Poisons and Antidotes… Do you suppose he would be willing to help me prepare for it, perhaps as my independent project for class?"

"Oh!" Calista's face lit up. "He was telling me about that a few weeks ago - he does help a few seventh year students a year with preparation for it, as an elective study. You need to have received an 'O' in Potions, which of course you must have to be in his N.E.W.T. class, and be on track to do the same on your N.E.W.T. exams - oh, and you can't have blown up a cauldron in his class.  _Ever_."

"Well, I guess I'll never be taking that one," Terry said brightly.

"I haven't," Gerald said, "Blown up cauldron, that is; and I did get Outstanding on my O.W.L., of course, and most of my essays last year were graded as an 'O' as well."

"I can ask him," Calista said, "If all that's true, I don't see why he wouldn't agree…"

"Oh, no, please," Gerald said quickly, "You don't have to do that - I wouldn't ask you to. I was only asking if you thought it was worth my time to ask him."

"I don't mind," she assured him, "He only takes one or two students usually - three at most - and I don't know who else has already asked, so it's probably best if he knows you're interested sooner rather than later."

"If you're sure it's no bother," Gerald said, "I wouldn't want you to think I'm asking for a special favour just because we're friends, but it  _would_ be helpful if I could prepare for that exam."

"Of course." Calista glanced around, for a clock, but didn't see one. It must be getting close to the time her father wanted her back. She remembered that both Gerald and Terry were wearing watches. "What time is it? My dad wants me back home by three o'clock."

Gerald looked at his watch, and then started, with mild alarm. "I'm afraid it's quarter to three already; how are you getting home? Is it close?"

"I'm taking the Floo network."

"Oh," he said, relieved, "I was afraid you had to take a train, or something. We'll walk you back to the Leaky Cauldron then, we should be able to get you there in a few moments."

They walked back, and just before Calista stepped through the grate, she remembered something.

"Oh," she said, "I  _would_  like to go to your birthday party, as long as my dad says it's all right; let me know when it is, and I'll ask him."

Gerald nodded, with a small smile. "I'll send you an invitation by owl. It was good to see you, Calista - good bye."

"Good bye; it was good to see you, too, and to meet your brother."

She glanced at him over her shoulder before she stepped into the green flames; she felt suddenly wistful to be leaving. It had been such a nice day.

But then, she remembered with a small smile, she did at least have some new books to read.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

She'd ended up going to Diagon Alley on her own three more times that summer; once, to meet Amelia, and twice to meet Marcus. He'd asked her over to his home several times, but after the first time, Calista hadn't even bothered to ask her father; unless he was going to, the answer was a solid no.

He had said she could invite Marcus over for dinner, provided of course that he was home and that they did not go upstairs to her room, but Marcus hadn't been keen on the idea once she'd laid out the rules to him.

She'd gone to Diagon Alley once with her Aunt Narcissa, too, while she'd been spending a weekend at Malfoy Manor. Narcissa had taken her to Twillfit and Tattings this time for her clothes, and she'd ended up with things even fancier than the things she'd gotten before; this time, Narcissa had insisted on buying her actual dresses to wear underneath her tailored robes, some long and some short. She convinced her aunt to buy her a couple of pairs of trousers, at least, but even these were cut expertly and had silver buttons at the pockets, so they were hardly plain.

Narcissa took her to the salon again, and to the store with all the frilly, brightly coloured undergarments; at least she was used to it now, and she'd managed not to feel embarrassed, at least not until Narcissa made a barely-veiled insinuation that Marcus might enjoy seeing her in a particular matching set that was green and lacy.

Calista had begged her not to buy that set, and she'd reluctantly acquiesced; she'd asked Calista if things were going all right with Marcus, and she hadn't know what to say, so she'd responded back to her aunt with a question of her own.

"How did you know that you were in love with Uncle Lucius?" she'd asked. Narcissa had smiled, warmly, reflecting.

"Well, I suppose it came little by little, the knowledge that I loved him. I fancied him for quite some time, you know - he was  _quite_  good-looking, and popular and well-respected at school. But those things… they might draw you to a person initially, but that's not the same as loving them. I supposed I slowly realised, while we were dating, that my feelings were only growing stronger. I enjoyed spending time with him, more than with anyone else. We'd talk for hours, sometimes, and we'd begun doing more and more things together. I suppose one day I just realised, I would be devastated if I ever had to spend any length of time without him… and your Uncle Lucius must have felt the same, because one day he presented me with the most beautiful emerald ring I'd ever seen, and asked me to be his wife."

That had troubled Calista, because it didn't  _sound_  like her and Marcus - hadn't he just suggested that they do  _fewer_  things together? What if she'd made a mistake by agreeing to that? But then - the things Narcissa had said - talking for hours… Marcus usually only liked to talk for as long as it took to get them through their latest disagreement, so they could go off somewhere and start kissing again.

Narcissa had naturally tried to probe Calista gently for details about her and Marcus' relationship, but she didn't much feel like talking about it, so she'd changed the subject, and asked Narcissa something about shoes, knowing Narcissa would go on about that for long enough to forget what they'd initially been talking about. Thankfully, it had worked, although twenty minutes into a discussion on heel heights, Calista was beginning to wish she'd just answered her aunt's personal questions instead.

Things hadn't been much more interesting back at Malfoy Manor that evening, either; Draco's new broomstick, the  _Nimbus 2001_  that Lucius had supplied for him as well as for the rest of the team, had come in, and he insisted on flying around the manor grounds, showing off. Calista remembered that Marcus had asked her, in one of his letters, to let him know how Draco's flying was, but she had no idea how to judge - she decided just to tell him that it was very good. After all, he'd already made up his mind that Draco would be on the team, so what difference did it make?

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

As the summer wore on, Severus began supplying her with all sorts of literature on certification exams offered by the Ministry, as well as brochures and information about various post-graduate internships, offered at all sorts of places - there were both practical and research internships at St. Mungo's, dozens of different Ministry internships, and on and on. There were internships available in places ranging from Gringott's to Gladrags, and, it seemed, everywhere in between.

There were so many options; Calista had pored over the various literature for days, but so many things sounded so interesting, she didn't see how she was supposed to know now what she wanted to pursue for the rest of her life - what if she chose wrong? What if she started down one path, then later decided she wanted to pursue something else? She supposed that her best option for the time being would be to simply take as many clases as she could, and hope that she figured out precisely what she wanted to do by the time she was ready to graduate in two years.

Gerald had told her, in one of his letters, that Professor Flitwick offered an Independent Study class to sixth and seventh years, where students could pursue whatever projects they were interested in - including studying for the Advanced Magical Theory certification exam - and he would be available for the length of the class period to offer advice and guidance. Gerald was already preparing for the Advanced Magical Theory exam himself, and was also using the Independent Study class for his ongoing Charms research.

Sometime at the beginning of August, Severus had sat Calista down at the kitchen table, with a course selection form and a sixth year timetable from last year, since this year's had not been completed yet, and things didn't tend to change too much from year to year.

It was a bit of a difficult situation, because once again, Calista was interested in more classes than could fit in a standard timetable - and this time, they already knew that asking for a Time Turner was pointless.

She'd known from the outset that she would continue in Potions, Defence, Charms, Astronomy, Ancient Runes, and Arithmancy. She wanted Herbology, too, and Severus agreed it was an important course for many of the careers she might consider; often, wherever a Potions O.W.L. or N.E.W.T. level was required, so too was one for Herbology.

She wasn't particularly enamoured of History of Magic the way that Binns taught it, but she was interested in the subject in general, and many of the Minsitry internships seemed to require it, so she supposed she ought to continue in that as well.

Part of the difficulty was that she wanted to continue in the peer tutoring program for Charms, despite the way it had gone towards the end of last year, when half of the school had thought she was evil for cursing Quirrell. But then, on the opposite side of the coin, she no longer had to take either Transfiguration  _or_  Remedial Transfiguration.

She had found that Flitwick's Independent Study class actually on the timetable as a scheduled slot, just like Gerald had said. There was a notation on the course selection form that students wishing to enroll would need to meet with Professor Flitwick during the first week of term to discuss what they wished to work on, and he would decide whether to accept them based on their desired project, and also on achieving at least an 'E' on their Charms O.W.L. At least she didn't need to worry about  _that_  particular qualification - but at any rate, both Severus and Gerald were confident she would be accepted, and she was fervently hoping they were right.

Severus usually met with students who wanted to take the Poisons and Antidotes exam at the beginning of term; she'd told him that Gerald was interested, and though he hadn't promised anything, he did say that he would arrange to meet with Gerald during the first week to discuss it.

"Speaking of the exam," Severus had said, when she'd brought it up, "Are  _you_ interested in taking it?"

"Of course," she'd said, "Do you even need to ask?"

"Well, you didn't seem particularly enthused when I brought it up, earlier in the summer," he'd pointed out, a bit waspishly, "Instead, you latched immediately on to the idea of the Magical Theory exam, and you never mentioned anything else about it."

"Well, I suppose I just knew I'd take it next year," she had said, "Since you said you only take seventh years."

"I said," he had reminded her, silkily, "That I would consider allowing  _one_  sixth year this year."

Her eyes had lit up; "Oh. You meant me."

"Yes," he'd said, "I meant you."

So she'd signed up for that as well; it wasn't a class block, per se, but it was still a considerable commitment.

"Taking all of these classes at the N.E.W.T. level is going to be a difficult load," Severus cautioned now, as they reviewed her completed form. "Add in the elective studies - the certification exam, your Occlumency lessons -"

"That's hardly elective," she muttered, good-naturedly; he cut her a mild glare.

"Your tutoring duties, and your Prefect duties," he'd continued, "And you won't have much time for extracurricular activities. Last year, Professor Flitwick's Independent Study class was on Friday afternoons; you won't have time to go watch Quidditch practises, I'm afraid, or do much of anything else besides revisions and homework."

"Good," she said, rolling her eyes. "I have an excuse if Marcus changes his mind and decides he wants me to go again, after all."

"I was under the impression that you enjoyed going to watch the Slytherin team practise? And don't forget, your cousin is on the team this year as well."

"I'll go the matches," she conceded, "But I don't like going to the practises - I never did, it's just, Marcus wanted me to, and I felt I ought to."

"Didn't you used to go to Gryffindor practises as well?"

"Yeah," she said, "But that was just because they had hot chocolate - and because my friends were going, and I wanted to spend time with them. But Percy doesn't go anymore either, and Tonks graduated."

"I see," Severus said slowly. "Well - at any rate, I only want you to consider carefully whether you're prepared for this kind of workload before we send your form in. N.E.W.T. level classes are much more demanding than O.W.L. level classes."

She looked over the form again, reviewing her choices - Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, Astronomy, Charms, Defence, Herbology, History of Magic, Potions, Independent Study. Then, there were the additional things - preparation for the Poisons and Antidotes exam, the three hour block of 'Elective Studies' she knew would occupy her Saturday mornings for the foreseeable future, and, as Severus had said, her tutoring and Prefect duties - and she didn't feel willing to drop any of them.

"I'm prepared," she said, straightening her shoulders. "Send the form in."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Severus had given Calista permission to go to Gerald's birthday party, the last week of August; she supposed largely in part because Amelia was going too, and because Gerald had mentioned that his mother, as well as several of his aunts and uncles were attending. It turned out that Gerald and Amelia lived fairly close, so she had convinced Severus to Apparate her close to Amelia's house, and then the two girls had taken a bus from there to where Gerald lived. She was to be back at Amelia's house by six o'clock, which Amelia grumbled at a bit, but agreed so that Calista could attend.

She had enjoyed the party, even though she hadn't really known exactly what to expect. There had been a funny moment when they'd first arrived, when his owl Uruz had started hooting and preening in his cage when he saw Calista; she'd laughed when she saw Gerald's bemused expression, and explained that she usually gave him a mouse when he came to her house.

Gerald's mother was very nice, even if she did seem a bit shy; but then, perhaps it was having her home filled with so many witches and wizards, for Gerald had invited six other students besides her and Amelia, and it seemed that all of his aunts and uncles that came, as well as a few grown cousins, were magical-blooded, too.

She and Amelia were the only sixth years; everyone else he had invited was in his own year, and Calista was the only Slytherin, but then, there were only two Hufflepuffs and one Gryffindor as well. She did think it was nice, really, that he had invited friends from every house - she wondered if his Prefect letter, too, had mentioned promoting house unity as a reason for his being chosen. Perhaps some day she would ask.

It seemed most everyone had given Gerald books for his birthday, which seemed to please him greatly. She'd had a hard time deciding which one to give him, since she didn't know all of the ones he might already have, especially given that he worked in a bookstore. She had ended up asking her father to take her somewhere else, somewhere with a wider variety of books - they'd gone to a place at the end of Knockturn Alley, after Severus made Calista promise to stay right with him the whole time they were on that street. He'd led her to a small, dim bookstore with cluttered shelves where Severus and Calista had both ended up purchasing an armful of new books for themselves - but she'd also found one that she thought was perfect, for Gerald.

She watched, anxiously, as he unwrapped it. It was a thick, heavy volume; someone made a joke that it must be for a bit of light reading, and everyone chuckled. His eyes went wide behind his glasses when he looked at the cover; carefully, almost reverently, he opened the cover - and Calista almost laughed, because he didn't open the front cover to check the contents, he opened the  _back_  cover to browse the index.

"This is… this is  _amazing_ ," he said, reaching for the wrapping again; he seemed to be looking for something. "There's no name," he said.

Amelia nudged her; she wasn't expecting it, hoped that she managed not to start too visibly.

"You're supposed to write who birthday presents are  _from_ ," she whispered.

"Oh," Calista said, quietly. "I didn't realise - it's, uhm."

She realised he couldn't hear her over the buzz of people trying to get a look at the book. One of his cousins had picked up the wrapping when Gerald looked down at the book again, and was scrutinising it.

She edged her way closer, squeezing in between two older Ravenclaws; several of them, and several of Gerald's cousins, were gathered around him now, trying to get a look at the book.

It was a thick tome, compiled from writings of many, many scholars and historians -  _A Complete Compendium of Runes Through the Ages_. Severus had known she was going to buy it the second they'd spied it in the store, but he'd been surprised to see her wrapping it up to give it away. There had been only one copy - the store clerk told them it was a limited printing and they didn't come through often - but he  _had_ promised to send them an owl the next time he got a copy in, so at least she had hopes of getting her own copy to keep. She hadn't been able to resist going through it before she'd wrapped it up, and she'd written down several dozen titles from the references, at least.

Gerald tore his eyes away to look up; he searched the crowd and spotted her.

"Calista!" he said, "You've got to see this book, it's incredible…"

"I've already seen it," she admitted quietly, still speaking quietly; she was feeling a bit uncomfortable being so close to so many people that she didn't know very well. "It's, uhm - actually, it's from me."

"Where did you  _find_  it?" He shook his head. "Actually, it doesn't matter - I can't believe you found something like this. I can't wait to start reading it…"

"You haven't," Amelia piped up, and a few people chuckled again. Gerald blushed slightly.

"I have to admit, though," she told him, "I may have read it a bit before I wrapped it."

He closed the cover carefully, and stood up, cradling the book as tenderly as if it were a treasure, or a baby unicorn.

"Thank you," he said, quite sincerely; he set the book down very carefully in his chair, "It's… I think it might be the best birthday present I've ever gotten."

She smiled. "I'm… I'm really glad you like it. I thought you would."

"I'd like…" Gerald said quietly, "I'd really like to give you a thank you hug, if it's all right."

She felt her cheeks heat up, inexplicably - after all, Amelia hugged her all the time, and many of her other friends, too - even  _Percy_ had, once; she nodded.

He was much less enthusiastic than Amelia was, thank Merlin; he didn't squeeze her, or throw his arms around her, or anything so dramatic. It was a chaste, friendly hug - gentle and brief.

"Thank you very much for the book, Calista," he said, again.

It was only later, when she was on the bus back to Amelia's house, that she realised - when Gerald had hugged her, she hadn't flinched or started at all.


	2. Chapter 2

On the train platform, Calista met up with an extremely put-out looking Amelia.

"I've barely seen her all summer," Amelia was saying, eyes narrowed, "And all she wants to do is go off with Percy - probably to snog of course."

"No, we have a Prefect meeting at the front of the train. I'm sure that's where they went," Calista said, but it didn't seem to make Amelia feel any better.

"Great," Amelia rolled her eyes, "That means  _you'll_  be gone too and I'll just be sitting by myself -"

"Yeah, because there's absolutely no one else on the entire train that you know," Calista responded, mirroring her friend's eye roll. "It won't take  _that_  long, and we'll all come find you after, oka- argh!"

She started, as someone grabbed at her suddenly, from behind - and then an arm snaked around her waist, and she heard a familiar voice by her ear.

"I have a few minutes before my Quidditch meeting," Marcus said, and then he lowered his mouth to kiss the side of her neck.

"Ugh, fine,  _go_ ," Amelia said, lugging her trunk. "That's fine, I'm beginning to accept that my entire school year's going to be invaded by everyone  _else's_  hormones. See you, Calista - you'd better come find me after your meeting!"

"I will," she promised, turning to face Marcus. She tried her best not to show that she'd been startled, as her heartbeat returned to a normal pace. "How was… how was your Quidditch match? In France?"

"It was brilliant," he said, "Romania actually tried the Doppelbeater Defense - never seen it executed live. I mean, except for our team, but you know, it's incredible to watch professional players - so smooth… and  _they_  had Nimbus 2001s, the French team did, just like mine - now I  _really_  can't wait to use this thing on the pitch - "

He must have noticed her eyes glazing over; he cleared his throat, and shifted awkwardly. "Erm," he said, "You… you never did tell me about your O.W.L.s. How many did you get? Seven? Eight?"

"Oh. I thought I did tell you. I got nine."

"Wow. That's a lot."

"Well, Percy got twelve, apparently - he took more classes than I did."

Marcus shook his head. "I got two the first time, and one more this year. Got an 'A' when I retook Potions. Failed all the rest again. Good thing you don't need O.W.L.s to play on a Quidditch team - I figure I just have to stay in school, on the team, long enough for a scout to come and see me play."

Calista's eyes widened in horror; Marcus grinned. "You look like I just said I wanted to murder a bunch of puppies or something."

"No," she managed, "Only your chances at a proper future -"

"You sound like your dad, he said something about a 'proper future' too when I told him I didn't want to try for a higher Potions score this year."

"Oh - you're not taking Potions this year?"

"Nah. I mean, I wouldn't be in class with you, anyway, I'm sure you're going into the N.E.W.T. class, right?"

She nodded. "I am, but… I could still help you. In between classes..."

"No way," he said, "I don't wanna waste any of my time with you on studying, remember? Anyway - look, the train's about to leave, we wasted our time…"

" _Wasted-?"_

"I'll find you after my meeting," he said, letting go of her waist to grab his trunk. "Maybe we can nab a coach to ourselves for the ride to school."

"I think that would technically count as a closed door…"

"We'll leave it open a crack, then." He grinned. "See, I can be clever."

Calista frowned, and picked up Yellow's cage, heading for the train. Her father had taken her trunk with him, but she hadn't trusted him not to 'accidentally' lose Yellow. After a few minutes of searching, she found Amelia in a compartment halfway down the train and left Yellow with her.

She could hear the murmur of voices as she approached the door of the Prefects' compartment at the front. Evidently, the meeting had already started - she was a bit late, after dropping Yellow off. She pushed the door open, and slipped in quietly, hoping that whoever the Head Boy and Girl were this year, they wouldn't notice her coming in late -

And then her plan to slip in quietly and unnoticed went straight out the window.

"Gerald!" Calista said, grinning, "You're  _Head Boy_?"

He stopped mid-sentence at her outburst, and his cheeks turned slightly pink; he nodded, with a small smile. "Yes, I got the letter last week. I was going to write you, but then I thought - it might seem like I was trying to boast -"

"That's incredible," she said, not caring that everyone in the compartment was looking at her, now. "Congratulations."

"Thank y -"

"Thanks for noticing  _me_ ," Endria Folland cut in drily, from her place at the front of the room next to Gerald. Calista hadn't even noticed she was there, or the new badge pinned to her chest, which she now pointed to - "Yes, yes, I know, the first Slytherin Head Girl in over twenty years, it is all very impressive."

"Oh," Calista said, feeling her own cheeks heat up. "I'm sorry, I just - congratulations, Endria."

"Well, it hardly seems genuine now," the older girl said, tossing her hair. "Anyway - as I was saying before this happy diversion, many of the patrol routes are being changed - evidently there was a lot of sneaking around at night by first years last year, and the Heads of House have asked us to extend Prefect Patrols until eleven o'clock in the evenings. We'll adjust schedules accordingly."

"Don't worry," Gerald said, looking around at them all encouragingly, "We do understand that you all have exams and revisions to worry about - we've managed to work it out so that everyone only has one late night patrol, and for those of you taking Astronomy, it won't be the same night."

There was a flurry of mumbling, mostly relieved, at this. Penny and Percy exchanged a meaningful look, and then Percy raised his hand.

"Excuse me, Gerry, we will be keeping the same partners for our routes this year, won't we?"

"I'd definitely prefer that," Gerald said; inexplicably, he flushed, and then he shook his head slightly, and continued, "Erm - I mean, _we_ would prefer to do that, wherever possible. It's certainly good to build a rapport with your fellow Prefects. We'll try to work with the Heads of House to make as few changes as possible in that regard."

"What if we  _want_ to change our partners?" a Hufflepuff seventh year muttered.

"Yeah," Thomas Powell, a seventh-year Slytherin said, glaring in the Hufflepuff's direction, "What if we want to stick someone  _else_  with three hours of constant chatter about some naff Muggle sport -"

"You can certainly request a change," Gerald put in, quickly.

"Honestly," Thomas continued, shaking his head, "What's the point of a sport with only  _one ball_ , where no one gets hit with a club?"

"Manchester United," the Hufflepuff said back, boldly, "That's what's the point." A few other Prefects murmured agreements or arguments, but most stared blankly.

"We can talk about this later," Gerald started, but Endria cut in, sending a cool glare to the Hufflepuff and to Thomas Powell in turn.

"In other words." she said, "Quit whining about your balls, both of you, so we can finish our meeting."

Calista pressed her lips together, to suppress a laugh. She would have to remember to tell Amelia about that; her friend would surely get a kick out of it.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Calista's first class on Monday was Defence Against the Dark Arts;she was expecting the class to be shared across all four houses, as most N.E.W.T. level classes were, but she was surprised to find that, not only were there only Gryffindors and Slytherins in her class, but there were far more students than she was expecting. Every single sixth-year Slytherin was in the class, and she judged that most of the sixth years Gryffindors seemed to be present as well.

She noticed that Percy and Oliver Wood didn't sit together; she wondered if they were still friends. She sat next to Percy, which also conveniently put her as far away as possible from Olivia, Portia, and Emily. Calista frowned. She  _knew_  Portia wasn't very good at defensive spells - how had she ended up in the N.E.W.T. level class?

Professor Lockhart strode into the room then, clad in bright purple robes. He stood in front of his desk, and leaned back against it slightly, surveying the class with a broad, bright grin; a few girls, Olivia among them, sighed. Calista scowled.

"Well, well," Professor Lockhart said, shaking his head slightly. "Look at what we have here. A classroom positively brimming with students eager to learn from the very best. I tell you - it touches me, it really does. Your eager faces, your blank minds, ready to be filled with my knowledge - not  _all_  of it, mind you, I need to keep some trade secrets after all -"

Calista held back a snort, with difficulty.  _Blank_  minds? Did he realise he was standing in front of a sixth year class? What did he think they had been doing for five years in this classroom, dancing lessons?

"I doubt any of you will ever become as world famous as me," he continued, "But I can help prepare you to come as close as you can - or, at the very least, you'll know  _when_  you need to give up and call someone like me to help rid you of an unwelcome vampire. Now - before I begin the lecture, does anyone have any questions?"

Female hands shot up all over the room, Calista's among them.

"Yes, Miss…?" Lockhart said, gesturing towards Olivia.

"Avril," she said, leaning forward. Calista couldn't see from where she was, but she'd have bet her wand that Olivia was fluttering her eyelashes. "Please, sir, it's not a question, I just - I just wanted to say how  _honoured_  am to be in your class. I'm ready to learn anything and everything you want to teach me."

A few other girls giggled; Olivia blushed slightly, but raised her chin.

"I'm glad to hear it, Miss Avril. I'm certain you'll learn more than you ever have in any Hogwarts class before. Now, then, who's next? Miss…?"

"Haggerty," said a Gryffindor girl Calista only knew by sight, " _I_  was going to say the same thing, Professor Lockhart. I've read all of your books -"

Several girls chimed in a quick agreement that they had also read all of his books.

Lockhart chuckled. "All right, all right - Is that what you were all going to say?"

Most of the girls nodded.

"You can put your hands down now - now, now, be assured that I've already made a mental note of who you all are - extra credit on the first homework for reading my books ahead of time, I think."

Hands fell all over the classroom; a few girls whispered to each other.

"You, there, Miss - I'm sorry, I haven't had time to look over the roster yet - you can put your hand down now, I've noted that you enjoyed my books - yes, of course I'd be happy to sign one for you later."

"Snape," Calista said, "And I have an  _actual_  question."

"Ah! Wondering precisely  _how_  I knew to use a Tickling Charm on the Hemsworth Hag, perhaps?"

"Why were we assigned the same textbooks as first years?"

Percy nodded a vigorous agreement beside her, and so did a few other boys; Calista noticed that none of the other girls seemed to have found this concerning, or if they did, they weren't admitting it in front of Lockhart.

"Excellent question," Lockhart said, straightening his back and smiling at her in a manner that she supposed she was meant to find dazzling. "You see, Miss Snipe -"

" _Snape_ ," she said, firmly, ignoring titters from Olivia's side of the room.

"I have designed my collection of books so that they are the only references that one needs to deal with all manner of Dark Arts and Creatures - Brilliant, isn't it? You won't need to buy new texts next year, or - in fact - ever again! Yes, you're all very welcome - "

Calista sighed; evidently, she was going to be making a habit of antagonising her Defence professors. At least she was fairly certain  _this_  one couldn't possibly turn out to be working for the Dark Lord.

"I did read your books over the summer," she said, loudly, interrupting the professor, "And I saw nothing in them about dealing with Dementors, or Inferi, or how to resist the Imperius Curse - so I think I'd have to disagree with your statement that they're the 'only references one needs'. I also question whether -"

"Dementors!" Lockhart whisper-shouted, with a grand gesture around the classroom. "Inferi? Planning on visiting Azkaban, are we, Miss Snipe? I don't think, young lady, that you'll need to know how to deal with creatures of that sort otherwise…"

"It's  _Snape_ ," Calista said again, "The same as -"

"Now, now, young lady, I think we've taken up enough of your classmates' time with your questions, hm? I'd be happy to continue this discussion with you after class - you can help me address some of my fan mail - and you can ask me anything else you like."

He winked, and then turned his gaze away from her. Hands shot up again, as other girls volunteered to help him with his fan mail.

"My, my, I may have to institute a waiting list. Better get your name in quick, Miss Snipe!" He chuckled. Calista glowered.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

If her Defence class seemed overcrowded and lightweight, her Advanced Arithmancy class proved, in its first moments, to be its polar opposite. There were only ten students, despite the sixth and seventh year classes being combined. Penny and Percy were already seated attentively in the front row when Calista arrived; initially, she headed towards them, but then Amelia had caught her eye from the very back row, where she had taken a seat next to Endria.

Calista looked at her quizzically as she took the seat on Amelia's other side.

"Why aren't we sitting with Penny and Percy?" she wondered.

"Sat with them at lunch," Amelia said, "Had my fill for the day."

"Still, we always -"

The rest of the seventh years arrived then - every single one of them clad in Ravenclaw robes. Besides Gerald, Calista recognised Robert Davies and Evan Brown, two boys who had been at Gerald's birthday party over the summer, and Gwen Pierce, a reedy-looking blonde with thick glasses who was rumoured to have achieved the highest O.W.L. score in school history on the History of Magic exam.

Gerald and his friends sat in the row in front of Calista and Amelia, but it hardly mattered; as soon as Professor Vector had entered the room and begun the lecture, there was no time for chatter. Her quill moved furiously across the page for the entire duration of class, as she wrote down complex formula after complex formula, copying Professor Vector's precise, even writing in her own heavy-handed scrawl.

At the front of the class, Emily Yaxley was still managing to colour-code her notes with an assortment of bright quills; Calista wondered how she could keep up and still manage, when Calista's own notes were barely legible by the end of the class period.

Amelia groaned softly when Professor Vector told them their first homework assignment; Calista felt apprehension gnawing its way under her skin. The assignment would surely take hours upon hours to complete, and they only had a week…

She slipped her timetable out from beneath the front cover of her textbook, and skimmed it with dismay. She had Astronomy Tuesday night at midnight, which effectively rendered her free period first thing Wednesday morning as non-existent, since she'd need it to catch up on sleep. Wednesday night she was on patrol until ten o'clock, and between Occlumency lessons in the morning and preparation for the Poisons and Antidotes exam in the afternoon, she had classes all day Saturday. She did have Thursdays free, except for patrolling the dungeon corridors in the afternoons, and Sundays of course, but she had virtually no free time aside from that.

She hoped fervently that her other classes would be light on homework this week, so she could focus on Arithmancy for the whole of the day on Thursday.

Her hopes had been dashed, however, the very next class period, when her father had assigned them a lengthy essay comparing and contrasting the Draught of Living Death with other sleeping potions; he asked them to write their opinion, also, and whether the Draught should be considered a poison under Magical Law, with supporting references.

She frowned behind her father's back; evidently, Gerald had not been having her on when he'd said that her father wasn't easy on N.E.W.T. students, and she knew from experience that, if anything, her father would expect more from her than from the other students.

By the second day of classes, she had determined that she would be using the lunch block as an additional study period; she was loathe to bring her books into the Great Hall where they might get food on them, so instead, she elected to slip quickly in at the beginning of lunchtime and snag whatever she could that was easily portable from the table - that day it happened to be a sandwich - and eat it on her way to the library.

She recalled, as she hunched over her father's essay in a quiet corner of the library, that he  _had_  warned her that her chosen course load would not be easy - she just hadn't expected to feel it so early into term.

She supposed Apparition lessons were partly to blame; she had not realised what intense mental concentration it took to Apparate, and having to attempt it first thing in the morning that day had strained her. She hoped it would become less deliberate, less demanding, as it became more familiar, but she knew better than to count on it, after her experiences with Transfiguration.

At least her meeting with Professor Flitwick had gone well; there were five students, including herself and Gerald, that had elected to work on an independent study project with him, and he hadn't even asked her to explain what she was there to work on. He'd simply handed her a book he thought she'd find interesting,  _Origins of Ancient Charms_ , and when she'd told him she was interested in taking the Advanced Magical Theory examination as well, he'd stacked two books of theory on top of it with a delighted smile, suggesting that she and Gerald ought to share the books and study together, since they both wanted to take the exam.

No one needed tutoring this early into term, so she and Gerald were able to use the time block they shared to look through the indices of the two books, and decide who would take each one first. She had a second block of time dedicated to tutoring that was unshared, and she used that to finish up her Potions essay.

The first week of term, she had a Prefect meeting Saturday morning, which meant she was off Occlumency lessons; even so, given the grueling week she'd had, she felt so keenly exhausted by the time that her father had unlocked the Potions classroom on Saturday afternoon that she hardly even registered excitement that the other student he was mentoring for the Poisons and Antidotes exam  _was_  Gerald after all.

She wondered, as he ran through a list of potions that were commonly on the exam and that he recommended they research and practise, how she would possibly be alert enough not to accidentally poison herself in future weeks, when she  _would_  have Occlumency lessons in addition to everything else.

Still, when she felt her father's gaze sweep over her in his customary assessing manner, she straightened her back, and tried to look like she wasn't already overwhelmed. After all, she had been warned - she had chosen this.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

She still shared her library patrol with Gerald, though it was on Wednesday evenings now, from the end of dinner until eleven o'clock. Their main charge until nine o'clock was still to prevent unauthorised visitors from accessing the Restricted section, but after that, they were to apprehend and report  _any_  students - aside from Prefects, of course - who were found outside of their common rooms.

Prefects were typically allowed a later curfew than other students - in the past, it had been ten o'clock instead of nine - but this year, given the extended patrol hours, they were allowed to be in the corridors and the library until eleven, even on the nights they were not assigned a patrol route. This policy was already proving to be a godsend to Calista, who had spent nearly every night in the library and had managed to stay on top of her assignments thus far because of it.

"How are you finding sixth year to be so far?" Gerald asked her, a few weeks into term, as they ushered a few straggling fourth year Ravenclaws out of the library at five minutes of nine.

"Exhausting," Calista said, and Gerald had nodded sympathetically.

"I'd like to tell you it eases up," Gerald said, "But I'm afraid it only gets worse. I actually considered dropping a class this year, but in the end I determined it would have been an unnecessary waste, given that I already took it in sixth year - That's not the way to the common room, Bethany."

A slight, dark girl with curly hair glanced back guiltily, then changed directions and tagged along behind her classmates. She tossed a wary glance back over her shoulder.

"Which class?" Calista asked, "Oh, and you do realise she's going to loop back as soon as she's out of your sight?"

"Divination," Gerald said, "And, yes, I admit it does seem likely."

Calista stepped out into the corridor, motioning for Gerald to follow; she slipped quietly around a corner in the direction the fourth year girl had been heading before Gerald redirected her, hiding behind a suit of armour. She nodded towards another suit at the other side of the corridor, and Gerald hid behind that one.

A moment passed, and then -

Soft, shuffling sounds. Cautious, as if someone was taking a step, listening, then taking another step.

Bethany reappeared, and peered down the corridor in their direction. Gerald moved slightly, perhaps to apprehend the girl, but Calista caught his eye and put her finger to her lips.

Bethany squinted, scrutinising the armour from a distance, but she didn't see them hiding behind it; she turned in the other direction, resuming her cautious shuffling.

When Calista judged they had given the girl enough of a head start, she slipped out from behind the suit of armour, and Gerald did as well.

"Erm… why didn't we stop her?" Gerald murmured, quietly.

"Don't you want to know where she's going?" Calista whispered.

They didn't get to find out, however; a great cackling rent the silence of the corridors, and the girl came running back in their direction, Peeves soaring along at her heels.

She nearly collided with Calista and Gerald; both of them flinched backwards as she came hurtling towards them. Just in time, Gerald reached out an arm to catch the girl before she slammed right into one of the suits of armour.

"Ickle girly out of bed!" Peeves cackled, sticking his tongue out at the terrified-looking girl, "Oooh,  _prefects -_ you're in trouble now!"

Peeves did a cartwheel in mid-air, as the girl, Bethany, righted herself, and stepped nervously backwards.

"I was going back to the common room," she said quickly, "I got lost -"

"Look at that!" Peeves squealed, "Not a Prefect, the Bighead Boy himself! Oh, you'll be expelled for sure, you will!"

"We can handle this, Peeves," Gerald said evenly; the poltergeist drew back, and aimed a vigorous raspberry at Gerald, before wheeling away and zooming back the way he'd come, singing a very rude song along the way.

"I'll walk you back to the common room," Gerald said, "That way we can be sure you won't get lost again."

"Uh, no that's all right," Bethany said, "I can - uh, I remembered the way."

"I can walk you to the common room," Gerald said, patiently, "Or I can walk you to Professor Flitwick's office. The choice is yours."

"Common room it is, then," the girl said quickly. Gerald nodded.

"I'll be back in a few minutes, Calista."

Their footsteps, gradually fading in the direction of Ravenclaw Tower, and Peeves' faint cursing song were the only sounds; Calista privately thought that it was  _eerie_  being in the corridors when they were so deserted - it reminded her, unpleasantly, of the handful of occasions where she'd felt the need to make a late night trek from her dormitory to her father's quarters, and had been discovered, once by Filch and once by the Bloody Baron.

She realised, suddenly, that the sound of footsteps had gotten  _closer_ and that they weren't coming from the direction Gerald and Bethany had gone in - she felt her heart speed up, immediately afraid it would be Filch again - and then she remembered, scowling, that she wasn't doing anything wrong, and that she wasn't a first year anymore - she didn't need to be afraid of the crusty old caretaker.

She sighed, irritated with herself, and marched in the direction of the footsteps.

"It's past curfew," she growled, rounding the corner to the corridor where she had traced the footsteps to, "You're supposed to be - oh."

It was Marcus.

"Hey," he said, grinning, "Found you."

"Marcus, what - it's past curfew -"

"Duh," he said, "S'why I figured now would be the perfect time to sneak off to the Owlery - or maybe the Astronomy tower, d'you know if there's a class tonight?"

"There isn't," she said, "But there  _are_  Prefects assigned to both of those areas -"

"Okay, somewhere else then," he said, easily. "You must know where it's safe - hey, didn't you grow up in the castle? Know any secret passages?"

"Marcus, you're supposed to be in the common room…"

"Right," he laughed, "And who's going to report that I'm not?  _You_?"

"Well," she said, "I'm… I mean, I'm supposed to… Peeves is around, by the way, be careful."

"I know," Marcus said, lighting up. "The  _library_  - that's your territory, isn't it? No one would find us there. Plus I know how books turn you on -"

"Marcus!" She could feel her face heating up. Marcus slipped his arm around her waist, and started guiding her back the way she'd come, towards the library.

"Marcus, I can't - I mean - He's coming back, you know."

"Who, Peeves? I don't hear him…"

"No, Ger - my patrol partner. You do know the night patrol routes all have two Prefects assigned to them, right?"

"So then," he said, backing her against a wall just inside the darkened library, "We'll tell him to get lost. Who is it, Derek? Or that scrawny little Hufflepuff?"

"No…"

He leaned down, and pressed his mouth over hers, insistently. Part of her - she suspected it was the same part of her that had once resorted to blushing and hair twirling whenever he was around - melted, wanting to go along with it, but the larger part of her knew this was a bad idea, at the moment, for a multitude of reasons.

She tried to pull back, but there was no space between her and the wall; instead, she turned her head, and pushed both of her hands against Marcus' chest.

"Marcus, stop. I can't - I'm on duty -"

"Come on," he said, quietly, still not letting go of her; he leaned down again, and she turned her face again, blocking him - but he didn't try to kiss her this time, he ducked his head over her and pressed his palm to her stomach, instead.

"I  _miss_  you," he murmured, deftly weaving his fingers through the opening in her robes, and under the hem of her blouse to brush over the skin at her waist, "I've barely seen you since term started."

It was true; she felt a wave of guilt as she registered that fact, and also the fact that  _she_  had hardly felt his absence at all, being so burdened by homework, and increasingly difficult Occlumency lessons - but still, _she was on duty,_ and not only that, she was on duty with someone who would probably delight in the opportunity to assign Marcus a detention.

"Tomorrow," she promised him quickly, knowing Gerald would surely be on his way back from Ravenclaw Tower by now, "We can meet tomorrow, I don't have any classes - just homework - we can go to the lake, or the Owlery - whatever you want."

He grinned; she thought she heard footsteps in the distance - she felt her stomach flip over and she wasn't sure which stimulus she was responding to, wasn't sure if it was a giddy feeling or a nervous one that gripped her, suddenly.

"Now,  _go_ ," she insisted, pushing him again with her palms. She wasn't really strong enough to push him away, but he backed up on his own, reluctantly.

"Tomorrow," he agreed, "I have Divination after lunch, but after that -"

"Fine, yes. Now please go, before -"

"Sorry that took so long," Gerald said, striding back into the library, "I figured I might as well grab my Sparkman book since I was going all that way, anyhow -  _Lumos_."

Both boys bristled at the sight of each other; Gerald took a half-step back, and Marcus took two steps forward.

" _You_?" Marcus sneered, glancing back at Calista, " _You're_  the one she has to patrol with?"

"Careful, Flint," Gerald said, quietly. "You're out past curfew."

"Yeah? What are you going to do about it, Boot?"

Gerald opened his mouth, even as he took another half-step back; Calista cut in, stepping between the two of them.

"He was just going back to the common room," she said looking pointedly at Marcus. "Weren't you?"

Marcus glowered, but he did step back, shuffling with evident resentment towards the doorway. Calista had very nearly breathed a sigh of relief, when he turned, smirking over his shoulder.

"Hey, Boot," he said, "Nice glasses. Not the same ones you had before though, are they?"

"Very clever," Gerald retorted evenly, "Spent the last five years thinking that one up, I expect?"

"Watch yourself, Boot."

"You'd do well to take your own advice," Gerald said, still appearing quite calm, although Calista noticed that his skin had gone rather pale. "You're well out of line, Flint -"

"Shut it, both of you," Calista cut in again, "Marcus, go back to the common room, or  _I'm_  going to give you a detention."

Marcus shuffled away, at last, and Calista turned to look at Gerald; he was clutching the hardcover book protectively to his chest. She opened her mouth to apologise, but Gerald spoke first.

"You can go," he said, quietly. "I'll finish out the patrol alone."

"There's still over an hour left. "

"It's fine," he insisted, "I'll cover it."

"I didn't - I didn't ask him to come."

"As long as you keep it out of my corridor next time," he said stiffly, still remarkably even-tempered, "I don't suppose it's any of my business."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

"Stop it," Marcus murmured, running his fingers up the back of her neck, and twisting them into the base of her ponytail.

"Stop - stop what?"

"You're doing homework," he said, accusingly, tugging gently at her hair, so that her face was tilted up towards his. "In your head. I can see it."

"No, I'm not."

"You are," he insisted, "Super Advanced Arithmancy, I bet. Guess I'm not doing a good enough job of distracting you."

She flinched, as an owl sailed in suddenly through the window to her right. Marcus pressed closer, blocking out the view of the window, and some of the rustling and hooting of the owls in the rafters above.

"That's not a real class…" she managed.

"Who cares?" Marcus said, as his other hand found its way under the hem of her blouse with a practised motion, "Mm, you look so pretty."

She felt her cheeks flush with colour; she distracted herself from her nerves with trying to remember if she had done anything different that day… she'd put on some of the cosmetics from Narcissa, mostly around her eyes, but that wasn't unusual, these days - she  _did_  have a small amount of perfume on, too, the lightest scent she had, the one that smelled like apple blossom - it was the only one she liked, really. The rest of the ones her aunt had given her smelled too much like something Olivia might wear -

She sucked in a breath, as Marcus' fingers slipped suddenly underneath the fabric of her bra - her skin was on fire, she trembled all the way to her marrow - and then his mouth came down, insistently, over hers.

"Wait," she whispered, pulling away despite his fingers curled in her hair. Marcus' hand stilled obediently, but he didn't withdraw it.

He turned his head slightly, in the direction of the doorway. Calista wriggled, half-heartedly trying to dislodge his hand from underneath her bra, but he misinterpreted, and turned back to her with a grin, the same one that always disarmed her.

"I don't hear anyone coming," he said, reassuringly, fingers moving eagerly again, "We're good."

"I -" she started, unsure what she would even say; she didn't even know what she  _wanted_ to say - Stop? Keep going? Go away? She needed a minute, a minute to think, to breathe -

He leaned over, she could tell he was going to kiss her - she even wanted him to - and then, the light from the window fell across his face just so, and she could see his eyes clearly, grey and intense, almost glazed - and she saw his thoughts, saw  _her_  in his thoughts in a way that made her stomach feel heavy and her head light. She froze, feeling her heart race. A spark ignited somewhere in her, and she couldn't tell if she liked it or not; everything seemed too fast, all of a sudden - his hands moving, one in her hair, one against tender skin - the vision she'd seen in his eyes, the truth of that hitting her like a racing broom - the fact that Amelia was right, that he  _did_  want to -

"Fuck," Marcus said suddenly, leaping back; his hands flew off of her, leaving her feeling uncertain and disheveled - he ran his fingers through his hair, as an owl wheeled overhead. "That damn bird crapped on me," he growled, whirling and shaking his fist at it, even though it was at least three metres above his head.

Calista exhaled, more relieved than she thought she ought to be. She adjusted her blouse and tightened her ponytail, and then she glanced up at the owl, and couldn't help but smile. Uruz, unknowingly repaying her for all those mice over the summer.

"I  _hate_  owls," Marcus grumbled. "I have to - I have to go shower, now…"

"I have homework anyway," she said, quickly, before he could suggest she wait for him to return, "I'll see you at dinner."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

"How are your classes going so far?" Severus asked, wand levelled, as he waded through the waves of images and memories she had assembled at his prompting - more deceptions, feelings directed at the wrong subjects - only now, he asked her to present several at once, and he examined them thoroughly, pointing out every kink in the design, every wavering, tenacious thread that did not quite belong.

"I'm keeping up," she said, and she was answering his unspoken question, too, as she revealed another fabricated memory - the warm, amicable glow of friendship; for good measure, she added the image of a heartfelt hug that had actually come from Amelia - in an unwelcome twist, he'd asked her to link it with the image of Olivia.

"Good," he said,and he was double-speaking as well. "Apparition? How is that going?"

She winced. "It's… more difficult than I thought it would be." She struggled, rushing to weave a ragged, half-finished tapestry of hatred around an image of the Headmaster, as he inspected it critically.

"I've told you not to use that reaction," he said quietly, "You still can't separate the fear."

"It's the best example I have -"

"And it's useless to you at this juncture; the emotional signature reeks of her. You give yourself away. Choose another."

"Like what?" she snarled, frustrated.

"The Avril girl," Severus said, "I believe your genuine reaction to her will fit the bill."

She cast around, reaching for the threads that led there - there it was, a wary distrust, a solid, immovable brick of plain dislike; a touch of derisive pity at the girl's evident shallowness, when she'd once declared that Calista shouldn't have any of the things she had, simply because she wasn't pretty enough.

"Swap the pity for disbelief," Severus instructed, "Disbelief that he could be such a fool, so easily misled."

She wove the feeling around the image of Professor Dumbledore, and plucked another thread - this one from a memory of Portia, who couldn't believe that Olivia was using her, was insulting her behind her back - she twisted it, turning it darker, wove it in.

At last, Severus lowered his wand, withdrawing carefully from her mind. "Sixteen," he said, "Before I could see through the deception. Three more than last week."

"Did I get it right in the end?"

"You did," he said, "However, if I were an agent of the Dark Lord - you'd be too late."

"But none of them are going to be as skilled as you are," she pointed out, "Remember when Uncle Lucius tried to read my thoughts? He was as subtle as a herd of hippogriffs, and I could shut him out easily."

"Yes, and you're not truly safe until you have that level of mastery against the Dark Lord himself."

"You don't really expect -"

"Of course I don't," Severus cut in, harshly, because he couldn't bear for her to finish the question, "Nor do I expect to be poisoned, but I always have a selection of antidotes on hand."

"Dad," Calista said, reaching for his hand; she felt his fingers tremble, slightly, until she wrapped them in her own. "I'll keep trying; I'll get it before there's any danger."

"There's already danger," he said quietly, shaking his head. "There's  _always_  danger."


	3. Chapter 3

' _Marcus', Calista calls ahead to his back, hulking and large in front of her. He has his broomstick over his shoulder, which she's only now realising seems strange. 'We're not supposed to go in there.'_

_He plods on, as the spindly shapes of the trees at the edge of the forest grow closer. They crowd each other, like a rioting crowd, squeezing together - it seems absurd that Marcus will even be able to enter the forest; he's so tall and broad, and the spaces between the trees are, if anything, shrinking._

' _Marcus,' she calls again, 'I really don't think this is a good idea. There are - there are all sorts of dangerous creatures in there…'_

' _So what?' Marcus calls, grinning at her over his shoulder, 'I'm bigger than them.'_

' _I don't - I don't know,' she says, hesitating. They've drawn level with the forest now, and Marcus is motioning her in._

_She takes just one step forward; she feels his arm slip around her waist. At first, she thinks it's encouraging, but then his grip gets tighter - painfully tight._

' _Ow, Marcus, I can't breathe -'_

_She turns her head, and sees Marcus flying away on his broomstick. Already, he's only a vague shape on the horizon - but that's impossible, she can still feel him holding onto her - she looks down, and to her horror, it's not Marcus at all, but a snake, a huge, powerful serpent coiled around her waist. It rises up, opening its jaws, hissing._

_She claws at it with her fingers, trying to pry it off her, but it's no use, the snake's grip is tight and her efforts are only angering it. Without warning, it lunges -_

_\- she's swallowed up in its jaws, and she braces for pain, but surprisingly, she feels nothing. Blackness overtakes her vision; she doesn't know if she is still at the edge of the forest - or was that a dream? Perhaps she is in the belly of the snake - though she see or can't feel it, anymore, either._

' _There you are,' comes a crooning voice, soft and cold - Calista is alert now, every nerve tingling with alarm._

' _Get away from me - leave me alone -' Calista says, scrambling to figure out where she is. She reaches for her wand, realises it's in her pocket._

' _Lumos', she says, and now she can see clearly again. It_ is _the edge of the forest still, though there's no sign of the snake - only the figure of a hooded woman in front of her - the shadows hide her face, but Calista doesn't need to see it, she knows exactly who this woman is._

' _Get away from me,' she says again, rising shakily to her feet. She takes a step backwards, hits something solid. She turns, terrified that she's managed to run right into one of the creatures she'd warned Marcus about - but it's only a tree. She realises they're all around her now, close-knit like dark, skeletal hands, holding her in._

_She turns, even though every instinct screams at her not to turn her back on the hooded figure - even as she claws desperately at the trees, trying in vain to squeeze through, she expects to feel a sharp, piercing pain in the middle of her back - but it never comes. All that comes is a soft, mocking roll of laughter._

' _It's too late,' comes her mother's voice, after another minute of desperate clawing, 'You're already in the forest. You can't get out that way.'_

_She turns again, expecting her mother to be upon her; but the hooded woman hasn't moved._

' _Let me go,' Calista says again, and her mother laughs._

' _I'm afraid the only way out,' she says, reaching her hands up to her hood, 'Is to come further in.'_

' _No,' Calista says, horror growing, because she knows what happens when she sees her mother's face in her dreams -_

_\- only, when the hood lowers, it's not Bellatrix at all._

' _Y-y-you're m-m-mine," Professor Quirrell stammers, "She p-p-promised.'_

_He lifts his wand; Calista lifts hers, too._

' _Expelliarmus!' she yells, 'Impedimentia! Diffinidus Aculeus!'_

"Shut up, you fucking psycho!"

Calista started awake to a brightly lit room; she sat upright, fingers wrapped around her wand -

No, she realised, as her eyes swept from Emily's wide-eyed stare, to Portia's, to Olivia's, and finally back to her own hand. Her fingers were wrapped around a quill.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Olivia hissed, wand still pointed at the lamp. "It's two o'clock in the morning."

Calista blinked, and shifted - she felt something move and rustle, and she started, scrambling out of her bed, only to realise it was only a length of parchment - her Arithmancy homework. She must have fallen asleep while she was working on it, earlier.

She grabbed the parchment, and her quill, and stalked over to her wardrobe, hurriedly pulling on the first set of robes she could find.

"Now you're going out," Olivia observed, and she made a hard, impatient sound. "Fine. With any luck, you'll be expelled, and the rest of us can get a decent night's sleep once in a while."

"Shut it, Avril," Calista managed tiredly, stuffing her feet into the flats by the side of her bed, and plucking her wand off the night stand.

The common room was dark and quiet. She aimed her wand at the fireplace, starting a crackling fire, and curled up in an oversized chair.

She forced herself to replay the dream, and to search painstakingly across the surface of her mind, seeking anything that could be a sign that Bellatrix had infiltrated her mind; unsurprisingly, she found nothing. She had enough experience, she reflected bitterly, to tell the difference at this point, between a legilimency-fueled attack, and what she suspected was just a plain, albeit terrible, nightmare.

She supposed her father would probably want to know, anyway, would want to hear the details of the dream to determine its true nature for himself, but…

She recalled the strain in his face of late, the tremor of his fingers, the horrible fear in his eyes. She recalled, too, with a painful sharpness, the guilt she'd seen wrap its fingers around him, clutching at him, on and off, since her duel with Quirrell last year. She couldn't bring that upon him again, not without good, solid reason - and this, a plain nightmare, even one that even still was twisting her gut - did not seem solid enough.

Still, there was no denying that talking to her father about her nightmares was often therapeutic. She closed her eyes, imagining herself in his office. He would be correcting papers - she imagined the gentle scratching of his quill across the rough surface of parchment.

' _I heard her voice,' she would say, 'She said it was too late, that I couldn't get back out of the forest the way I'd come'_

' _And how did you get to the forest?' he might ask._

' _Through the mouth of a snake,' she would say, leaving out the bit about following Marcus reluctantly in there, because she didn't need him to tell her what to make of that. 'It swallowed me up'_

' _Did you see her eyes?' he would ask, quill pausing, because he always asked that._

' _No,' she would say quickly, reassuringly. 'That's why - that's why I'm sure it wasn't_ that _sort of dream. I never saw her face at all. She was wearing a hood.'_

' _What else did she say?' he would ask, leaning forward. She would wait, patiently, for him to continue writing again, and as soon as he realised what she was waiting for, he would oblige._

' _She said… she said the only way to get out… was to go further in. And then she took her hood down -'_

_Her father would be instantly alert again; might even drop the quill on the desk._

' _But it wasn't even her at all,' she'd say, frowning. 'It was - it was Quirrell.'_

She stopped her imaginary conversation here, because she didn't really know what he would make of that, and she also didn't want to see his face when she said his name, in case it brought the fear back, or the guilt.

Besides, much as with the Marcus portion of her dream, she didn't really need him to interpret the ending for her. She was reliving the duel because it had been unnerving her ever since it had happened - doubly so since she'd learned Quirrell's true identity.

She didn't need him to interpret Quirrell's words, either.

 _You're mine_ , the man she knew now to be possessed by the Dark Lord,  _She promised_.

It was precisely what she'd said to her father, in his workroom, several months ago, though for some reason he still seemed to insist upon blaming himself. Her mother had promised her to the Dark Lord before she even knew her own name, had told her, over and over again, that Calista would serve him, or would die for him.

When she had been quite small, she hadn't really been afraid of dying - what she'd feared was what would come  _before_. Countless times, she'd seen people beg for death at her mother's hands - and for every horrible thing she had witnessed, she'd heard about six more, all in the same vein.

Now, she did fear dying - and she feared for the people that she cared about. She feared most of all for her father, for the things that might happen to  _him_  for defying the Dark Lord, if he were ever to come to power again.

She feared that, if Bellatrix were ever let out of Azkaban, she would target her father for taking Calista away from her - or, perhaps, for no other reason than to hurt Calista, to destroy her tenuous support system. Her father always reassured her that it was not likely to happen, and that even if it did, he could protect her, protect them both - but what if he was wrong?

It was a funny thing, she reflected, watching the flames in the fireplace - the more she had, the more she feared. She wondered if everyone who had a lot to lose felt the same way, or if it was only because she had once had so little that it was easy for her to imagine returning to that hopelessness, that dark void of fear and pain - because it never  _really_  felt like she'd escaped it, only that she was managing, for the time being, to outrun it.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Gerald was quiet that week, in their independent study classes, and when they shared the library patrol. They both had other things to occupy them, though - their classwork, of course, and Gerald was engrossed in the Patronus book again during the quiet post-curfew hours of their patrol. She had her Arithmancy homework to copy over, since the original had been crumpled and torn beyond repair.

She thought she felt his eyes on her, a few times, and she wondered if she should try to start a conversation - but he was always the one that did that, and she didn't know what to say - and besides, he was studying, and she remembered he'd told her that when he had studied for his O.W.L. exams he hadn't even opened his mail - so maybe he didn't want to be bothered.

The next week, she was surprised to see her cousin and his friends in the library, perhaps an hour before curfew.

"Hi, Draco," she said, setting her books down on a study table for later. Instantly, his eyes shifted from the shelves to her stack, with mild interest.

"Hello, Calista," he said. She saw him nudge his friend, Gregory, who whirled around and grinned broadly at her, trying, she supposed, to look innocent.

"How are things going?" she asked, pretending not to notice that his other friend, Vincent, was sidling away in the general direction of the Restricted section. She knew Gerald was back there somewhere; he wouldn't get in.

"Oh, excellent," Draco said, a little louder than was perhaps necessary, "We had Quidditch practise this morning, did Marcus tell you?"

"Oh - no, I haven't spoken to him today," she said, not mentioning that it had actually been over a week since she'd really spoken to him, and that it was deliberate - she'd skipped dinner two nights in a row just so she wouldn't have to come up with another excuse to stave him off from revisiting the Owlery to pick up where they'd left off - she had homework, that was true, but he never seemed to accept that as a valid reason for her not to spend time with him.

"Well, our new broomsticks are amazing, of course - and my flying was excellent, Marcus even said so. We're going to win our first match, I'm sure of it."

"I'm probably going to try out next year," Gregory volunteered, puffing his chest out. "Draco thinks I could go for Beater."

"That's nice," Calista said, flicking a glance past him - she suppressed a small smile as she saw Gerald firmly directing Vincent away from the entrance to the Restricted section.

"So, what are you three doing in here, anyway?"

"Well, isn't it obvious?" Draco asked, "We're looking for more of those books."

"Which books?" She furrowed her brow. Had she missed something he'd said?

"You know, the -"

"Shh!" Gregory hissed, nudging Draco, and gesturing to Calista. "We don't want to get her in trouble, remember -"

"Oh, yes, of course." Draco sighed, and lowered his voice. "The… the secret spell books. You don't have one there, in your pile, do you?"

Calista bit down hard on the inside of her cheeks, suppressing a burst of laughter just in time. Of course… she'd nearly forgotten, with everything else, that they were still pursuing the wild goose she'd fabricated last year.

"Now really, Draco," she said, with mock seriousness, "Look at the spines - they're all school-assigned textbooks. Do you really think Hogwarts would assign me a book with secret Dark magic within?"

"I suppose not. Father always says Dumbledore's too soft."

Vincent came skulking back, then. "Couldn't get in," he muttered, and Draco rolled his eyes.

"Of course you couldn't, you dolt. There are  _two_  Prefects in here, if you count my cousin - honestly, could you be any more dense?"

"Well, I only saw your cousin, and I thought - she's busy talking to you-"

"Shut up, Crabbe," Draco said matter-of-factly, and he was peering at Calista's textbooks again, "I say, isn't that  _Gadding with Ghouls?_  That's a second-year text, why do you have that?"

"Lockhart assigned it to us, too," Calista scowled. "Apparently it's the 'only defense book we'll ever need' or some rubbish like that -"

She became aware of a presence to her right, and turned slightly - it was Gerald, waiting patiently for her to notice him.

"I gather that Mr. - ah, Noname - in addition to being terrible at coming up with false names, is also a friend of yours," he said, "So I'm not giving him a detention this time, but that's the second time in as many weeks I've caught him trying to enter the Restricted section without a pass, so next time I really will have to."

"He's my cousin's friend," she said, "His name's Vincent Crabbe."

"And mine is-" Gregory started, eyes on Calista, but Draco interrupted.

"And if he's stupid enough to be caught," he said haughtily, "I suppose he deserves a detention. Calista, can you give him one?"

"Hey!" Vincent said, sulking again.

"Well, Gerald's already given you another chance," she said, to Vincent, though she was really addressing all three of them, "So I suppose you're off the hook this time. I do suggest, however, that the three of you return to the Slytherin common room now - it's almost curfew, anyway."

"Yes, let's," Draco said, authoritatively to his friends, "Let's go tell everyone how Weasley cursed himself into vomiting slugs -"

The three of them snickered.

"Wait," Calista said, frowning, "Percy cursed himself?"

"No, not that Weasley, another one - there are so many, it's hard to keep track," Draco cracked. "The one in my year, that hangs around with stupid Potter and the Mudbl-"

He stopped himself, eyes swinging towards Gerald, who was still within earshot and had already opened his mouth, but it was Calista who cut in first.

"I've told you not to say that word," she said, firmly. "I'm taking a point from Slytherin."

"Come off it, I didn't mean -"

"I suggest you accept it and move along to your common room," Gerald said, somewhat coldly, "As I was about to take ten."

The three of them slunk off, and Calista turned back to Gerald, aware that her cheeks felt warm and were probably pink.

It said a lot towards how upset Draco's outburst must have made Gerald that he had been about to take ten points; she had almost never seen Gerald take points from anyone, even now, when he was Head Boy and was allowed to dock any house.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I've told him not to say that - he hears it from his father, no doubt."

"Your uncle," Gerald said, quietly. He was eyeing her in a funny sort of way, like she was a puzzle he was close to solving. Still, it was better, she supposed, than being ignored, which was more or less what he'd been doing since he'd caught her and Marcus in the library a few weeks ago.

"Yes," she said, uncertainly, "That's generally how it works - my cousin's father is my uncle."

"Obviously," Gerald said, "I meant - I was just wondering if he was the one -"

He stopped, and shook his head, firmly. "Never mind."

"He's Lucius Malfoy, if that's what you're asking," Calista said warily, "Most everyone knows who he is, I guess, for various reasons."

"Never mind," he said again, and then, after a brief pause: "I finished re-reading the Sparkman book. I was going to bring it over to you at dinner to borrow, but you weren't there."

"Yeah, I've - I've kind of been avoiding the Great Hall lately," she said, before she realised that opened her up for him to ask  _why_  and she certainly wasn't prepared to discuss her confusion over Marcus with someone she already knew didn't like him very much - she wasn't prepared to discuss it with anyone, really. "I mean - I've just had so much homework…"

Gerald nodded sympathetically. "I've already started having the exam nightmares," he confessed. "Usually, they don't start until January or so."

Nightmares.  _You're mine. She promised._

"I wish mine were only about exams," she said, without meaning to, and suddenly there was that puzzle-solving look on his face. She felt her cheeks grow warm again. "I should - erm, I'm going to check the corridors, it's nine o'clock."

She turned away, pushing the memory of the unwelcome dream, and all of its implications, firmly down, where it all belonged.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Calista hunched over, cradling a slim volume in her lap, nestled against the arm of a low, black leather couch. Though a fire crackled nearby, it wasn't really enough to read by, so she had her wand lit and balanced in her lap, as her eyes darted back and forth across the page, enraptured.

_There exist several well-documented cases of a witch or wizard who was once able to produce a fully corporeal patronus losing that ability after experiencing a personal trauma, which suggests that these events may alter the mental landscape significantly enough that there is reason to believe a trauma earlier in life may indeed prevent one from summoning a Patronus at all, when the traditional method of recalling one's most pleasant memories is followed._

_This is the reason I propose that the 'pleasant memories' approach may not be a one-size-fits-all solution, when it comes to producing a Patronus. An emerging body of research suggests that, rather than simply representing one's joys, a proper Patronus may actually be a reflection of that which brings positive emotional strength to its conjurer. This would mean that someone who has suffered a tragic loss that renders them unable to produce a Patronus may well find a way to recover that ability, though an interesting curiosity to note is that anecdotal evidence suggests that re-learning the ability to summon a Patronus after it has been lost results in the Patronus taking a new form in approximately half of reported cases._

_An illustrative case study follows, concerning Hannah Bannister, who lost the ability to produce a Patronus following the death of her husband during the First Wizarding War-_

A heavy weight settled on the other end of the couch suddenly, causing Calista to start -

"Oh! Marcus. I didn't… I didn't hear you coming… what are you doing up? It's late."

"More like early," Marcus remarked carelessly, sliding close to her and leaning over her shoulder, squinting at the book. "You're not still doing homework, are you?"

"No, just reading…"

"Good, then you can stop." He turned his face, and kissed the side of her neck, beneath her ear. She felt his hand slide to her waist, and she thought she knew where it would go next. She squirmed, reaching for his wrist and pushing his hand away from her.

"Marcus, please, not now -"

"I've been waiting nearly a month for you to have time for me again," he said, wounded. "You always have homework - and you just  _said_  you're not doing any now, so what's the problem?"

"It's only been three weeks," she said, and Marcus huffed, obviously not impressed by the distinction, "And I just don't - I just want to read, right now."

He sighed, and kissed her neck again. He hooked his hand against her hip, but mercifully didn't try to manoeuvre it beneath her blouse, this time.

"Sometimes I wish you weren't so-," he muttered, and she jerked herself away slightly to glare at him.

"So  _what?_ What's that supposed to mean?"

Marcus rolled his eyes. "You know.  _This_."

He gestured to the book that she still cradled in her lap. "You study more than anyone I've ever seen. Even more than the rest of your weird Arithmancy friends - even when your  _boyfriend_ , who you've been ignoring basically all year, purposely stayed up late to try to spend time with you - and it's not even for  _school_."

"This is the way I've always been," she snarled, injecting an extra note of ferocity to cover the fact that he had hurt her feelings. "You knew that - you've always known that."

"Yeah," he said, unhappily, "But you used to make time for me, when I pointed it out - I used to be able to do this -"

He reached for her suddenly, and she stiffened, hunching protectively over the book that was still open in her hands. He placed his hand at the side of her face, turning it towards his, and pressed his mouth over hers, kissing her insistently, but briefly.

"-and you'd close your book and kiss me back," he said, pulling away. He glanced at the still-open book. "But now I guess you like books more than me. Maybe I should've - maybe I should've done what I said, and ripped them up every time you disappear on me -"

He seemed to realise he'd made a mistake as soon as the words left his mouth - before she even opened hers, he looked contrite, but the heat of anger had already risen into her forehead, was already making her nerves taut and causing her fingers to clench more tightly against the volume in her hands.

"Yes, because threatening to destroy things I like is such an  _effective_  way to make me want to spend time with you," she said, and then - "That's sarcasm, by the way, in case you couldn't tell - because I guess you can't tell a lot of things about me. You can't tell that the reason I've been staying up and reading all night for the past three weeks is because I'm afraid to sleep - you can't tell that it hurts me that you hate all of my friends - and clearly, you can't tell that I  _don't want to have sex with you_."

She hadn't intended to say all of that, but the exhaustion and the stress of  _everything_  had made her less careful than she'd meant to be a few times lately - and once it was said, she couldn't take it back, any of it.

She watched his face transition, from contrite, to hurt, to confused.

"I know you want to wait until your birthday," he said at last, "I'm trying to be good about that."

"That's - of everything I just said, that's what you're focusing on?"

"Well, it was the biggest one," he said defensively, "And - and the last one. Calista, I know you want to wait for that, I just don't think we have to wait that long for  _everything_."

"Well, I don't just - it's not just 'until my birthday'," she said, "Even if I was seventeen right now, I wouldn't - I'm just not… comfortable… with that, yet."

"But we've been together so long," he said, and it wasn't accusing; he truly didn't seem to understand. "Much longer than Derek and Olivia, and Derek told me they already -"

" _I don't care what Olivia does_ ," she hissed. "I'm not her. I'm me. And I - I told you, a long time ago, things are… they're harder for me than for other people…"

She was thinking about the passage she'd just read, about people with traumatic pasts having difficulty with summoning a Patronus - and it certainly seemed plausible, because enough other things felt more difficult than they seemed to be for everyone else. She thought Marcus would understand what she was saying, but he only looked at her blankly.

"Because… because your dad's a teacher here?" he guessed, finally.

" _You know why_ ," she said, clutching the book and starting to rise from her seat. She felt a flash of irritation, and something else that rode uncomfortably close to fear. "Don't make me say it."

"Calista," he said, quickly snaking a hand out to grip her elbow, and keep her from leaving. She started for the third time that evening, not expecting his touch. "I really don't know what you're talking about."

" _This_ ," she said, feeling heat behind her eyes, and resenting it. "Just this - I can't - I can't find a way to  _not_  be afraid when someone touches me, or points their wand at me, if I'm not expecting it. Because of - because of the things I told you. Because of  _her_."

Marcus blinked, and slowly relaxed his grip on her elbow.

"I'm sorry, Calista, I - I forgot."

"Well, I can't forget," she said, "Not ever, not for one second. Except… except, sometimes, when I'm really absorbed in studying -"

She stopped, and sucked in a breath. Had she ever admitted that, even to herself?

"I'm going to my father's office," she said, because she had to leave the common room behind in that moment, and Marcus and all the things she'd said along with it.

"It's probably locked…"

"No kidding. I know the spells."

"I can - d'you want me to walk with you?"

"No."

She tucked the book, Gerald's book, under her arm, and slipped out of the common room, without looking back. She'd done enough of that, for the evening.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

"You're not sleeping enough," Severus said, immediately, when he entered the kitchen in the morning, and poured himself a cup of coffee from the half-full carafe she'd left for him. "I doubt you're eating enough, either, since I almost never see you in the Great Hall. And whatever's happened - whatever you're here for - you should have woken me."

"How do you know I haven't just arrived?"

"Lucky guess," he said wryly, aiming his wand at the table, and causing a platter of breakfast foods to appear. "Eat."

"I'm not -"

"Eat," he said again, interrupting, as he sat down, reaching for a corner of toast himself.

Obediently, she reached for a slice of bacon. Only after she'd finished two more, and a slice of toast, did Severus lean forward, expectantly.

"Now," he said, "What happened? Did you have another dream?"

"No," she said, and then she reconsidered. "Well… I did have a nightmare, a few weeks ago, but -"

He spluttered, nearly dropping his mug.

"-But not that kind of dream!" she finished, hurriedly. "Just… just a regular nightmare. I promise."

"Did you check for-"

"Anchor points? Yes, I did, even though I knew there wouldn't be any."

"And you didn't-"

"See her eyes? No. Not even her face."

Severus frowned. "You still should have told me sooner. What happened, in it? Did she attempt to speak to you?"

"Dad, I promise it wasn't that kind of dream - I can tell the difference by now, believe me. That's… that's not even why I came."

He wouldn't drop the subject, though, until she'd told him, so she summarised the dream quickly, leaving out the part about Marcus, and trying her best to gloss over the duel, at the end.

"You're still bothered by the duel," he observed, and she nodded.

"Aren't we both?"

"I know you were concerned," Severus said, carefully, "But I do think we should reconvene your Defence lessons - it's clear you're not likely to learn anything  _useful_  in class this year with that useless buffoon teaching."

"I certainly can't argue with that statement," she said, rolling her eyes. "Do you know, he assigned the same textbooks to  _every_  year - and he tried to tell me, when I asked why, that his books were 'the only ones' anyone would need -"

"Utterly ridiculous," Severus snarled, "The arrogant, foolish idiot."

"Well, that's pretty much what I said, and he threatened to give me a detention helping him answer his fan mail. I asked him why we weren't learning about Dementors or Inferi."

"I suspect that's because he wouldn't have the slightest idea what to do if he ever met one," he said, derisively. "Which, unfortunately, means that an entire class of students will not know, either."

"Still, it's not as though Lockhart is the first woefully ineffective Defence teacher I've had - remember Mulhorn?"

He grimaced; she recalled, too late, that he had applied for the Defence position the year that Mulhorn was hired, and had been quite insulted that he had been overlooked.

"All the more reason to resume your lessons," was all he said, though.

She nodded. "I… I suppose it  _does_  make sense…"

She remembered the duel, in her dreams; remembered that the fear had come rushing at her as soon as she saw the wand aimed at her, and knew that the only remedy for that fear was to ensure that she would be able, once again, to counter any attack that was levelled at her.

"Good," Severus said, "We'll resume on Saturdays - perhaps the weeks you have Prefect meetings, before you work on your Poisons and Antidotes preparation?"

She nodded, again.

"Now," he said, looking her over carefully, "If you didn't come because of the dream -"

"I'm… I'm trying to learn how to produce a Patronus Charm, too. That ought to help with the… with the Dementors, if I ever meet any," she volunteered, in the vain hope that it would make him forget what he'd been about to ask. "Gerald lent me a book…"

"Have you had any luck?" he asked her, curiously. "It's - a bit advanced, but - it  _is_  a Charm."

"I haven't tried casting it yet," she admitted, "I'm… well, I'm nervous that I won't be able to, because… well, anyway, I thought I'd finish the book first."

"I'm certain I have a better one for you," Severus said, "I'll get it when we've finished here. Speaking of which…"

Calista sighed. She supposed she hadn't really expected to get out of answering the question.

"As much as I'd like to believe you came for a social visit, that's never the case when you arrive in the middle of the night."

"I… I had… well, a bit of an argument. With Marcus. And I just - I just wanted to be somewhere else after, I guess."

"What sort of an argument?" He tried to sound casual, but she caught the slight narrowing of his eyes, the knife's edge lurking in his tone.

"Nothing important," she lied, "It's fine now."

He frowned, clearly suspicious that there was something she wasn't saying.

"If that boy hurts you -"

"You'll poison him," Calista finished. "I know. More importantly,  _he_  knows."

"Frankly, I am concerned that this relationship of yours may prove to be too much of a distraction, now that you have begun your N.E.W.T.-level studies…"

"Well," Calista said, because this part of it seemed safe at least, and he was still eyeing her in a way that made her wonder if he would try to read Marcus' thoughts to find out what had happened, "That's sort of what it was about. He thinks I don't spend enough time with him, because I spend it all studying."

Severus snarled. "Perhaps if that boy spent more time studying, he would have scraped up something better than an 'Acceptable' on his second O.W.L. attempt."

"I thought you liked Marcus, now."

"Well, clearly, he doesn't care about you as much as I  _thought_  he did, if he's asking you to be remiss in your studies - so you can - so you can -"

He couldn't bring himself to verbalise whatever it was Marcus might want her to do with her time instead, for which Calista was exceedingly grateful.

"It doesn't matter what he asks," she said, more confidently than she felt, "I know how to say no."

Severus nodded; she saw his shoulders sag slightly with what she could only assume was relief.

"I'm going to get that book," he said rising from his place at the table, "And then you should be off for class."

He went down to his workroom, and came back with a very familiar-looking volume, holding it out to her.

Calista laughed. "That's the same book I'm borrowing from Gerald," she said, "I left it on the desk in your office last night, you can see for yourself."

Severus raised a brow; it wasn't merely surprise, she thought. Something else, too.

"I suppose it doesn't strike me as the sort of book many students would own," he said, after a few seconds of silence, setting the book on the table.

"It's probably not," she said, "But then, neither are most of the books I own, and we read a lot of the same things."

"Hm. Have you read it, already?"

"I'm partway through," she said, "Why?"

"No particular reason," he said, in a manner that made her immediately suspect there was a  _very_  particular reason he was asking, though she hadn't the faintest idea what it was. "You had better go; you'll be late for class."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

She had accepted Marcus' apology for his part in their argument, but she hadn't offered one in return, this time, for failing to spend time with him. She knew he was expecting it, though she didn't know why, when both of them knew by now that things weren't going to change.

She agreed, on Halloween, to go for a walk around the lake with him after her Saturday lessons, but it was cold and rainy outside; he suggested they climb the tower to the Divination classroom instead, which was bound to be empty.

She had never been to the Divination classroom, and she didn't know what to expect - but she certainly hadn't expected it to be so dark. All of the room's windows were covered; it took her eyes a moment to adjust.

"There's usually a fire going," Marcus said. "And the lamps are normally lit."

He gestured to the nearest table, which was surrounded by large pouffy objects that Calista realised were meant to be chairs of some sort. She perched uncertainly on one, tilting her head curiously, and looking around the room.

"This doesn't look much like a classroom," she said, at last.

"Yeah, I guess not," he said, dropping heavily onto the pouffe next to her. "Maybe that's why I like it better than most of the other classrooms."

"Do you still have to predict your death for your homework?"

Marcus chuckled. "Nah, actually, now I get to predict  _other_  peoples' deaths. She pairs us up, usually. This week, she had me with Gerald Boot - smarmy little git, you know who he is - so used to being the smartest one in the room, started accusing me of making stuff up -"

"Marcus, you  _do_  make stuff up."

"Yeah, well, it got me an 'O' on my O.W.L. And anyway, he doesn't know that, he was just being an arsehole, telling Trelawney I was cheating - so she came over, and she asked what I saw, and I started telling her loudly - Boot's going to lose a fight, he's gonna fall down the stairs and break his neck, he'll have a tragic death in the family - stuff like that."

He was  _laughing_. Calista felt her mouth open in horror, but he didn't notice; it was dark, and he was still talking.

"Anyway, she ate it all up, started telling him he better write home and warn his family. And then this morning, it was perfect, he was in front of me at the top of the stairs, and I grabbed his shoulder - bloody swot jumped a mile, nearly leapt down them himself and made my prediction true. It was hilarious, you should've seen it -"

"That's not funny," she said, finding her voice at last, and leaping to her feet. "That's  _horrible_. Gerald - Gerald is my friend, and even if he weren't, that would  _still_  be horrible. How could you do that to someone?"

Marcus stood up, too; she couldn't make out his expression very well in the dim light, but she could tell by the shape of his movements that he was suddenly angry, too.

"Excuse me? What the hell do you mean Gerald is your friend?" he snarled.

"Exactly what I said."

"Your friend - since  _when_?"

"Last year. Who cares? Marcus, you have to apologise to him -"

" _Who cares?_ Are you serious? Calista, he's been awful to me since first year, and you  _knew that_. How could you be his  _friend_? It's as if - it's like if I started being friends with Olivia Avril, only worse, because at least  _she's_  in our House!"

"What does his House have to do with anything?"

"It just does!" Marcus yelled, "He thinks he's so bloody  _clever_ , because he's a  _Ravenclaw_  and a  _Prefect_  - and he rubs my face in it every chance he gets!"

"He hasn't been anymore, though, has he?" she challenged. "I told him I didn't like him taking cracks at you, and he said he would stop - and he has, hasn't he?"

"No," Marcus said fiercely, "You saw him, in the library that time -"

"You started that, Marcus. You threatened him, about his glasses."

"This is - I don't believe this - whose side are you on, anyway?"

"Well, not yours, at the moment! What you said - what you did - pretending to push him down the stairs - Marcus, that's the action of a  _bully_."

He shook his head, wildly; he lifted his wand, and she flinched - but he only aimed it at the fireplace, starting a low, ruby flame. She could see a little better now, could see that his brows were knit so tightly they nearly met in the middle.

"Yeah well, if I'm one, so are you. You punched Avril, and everyone knows you'll curse them if they cross you."

"It's not the same thing," she said, "Everything I've  _ever_  done to Olivia was in retaliation - and I'm not saying all of it was right, either - but I  _never_  did anything to her, or to anyone else, unprovoked."

Marcus blinked, and shook his head again. "Well… well, neither did I."

"Yes, you did. You just told me, you threatened him again, in Divination class."

"Well, he said a bunch of stuff to me first," he said, quickly. "Your stupid plan didn't work. Boot's still just as much of a prick as he ever was - worse, now that he's Head Boy. He still takes cracks at me all the time - and he takes House points from me for no reason, and threatens to have me expelled -"

Calista's jaw dropped for the second time that day.

"Yeah," he said, fiercely, catching her expression. "And he gives me all these detentions…"

"You're lying to me," she said, quietly, shaking with disbelief.

"No, I'm not," he said.

"Yes," she said, " _Yes, you are_. I can see it in your  _face,_ Marcus."

"You're not - you said you wouldn't do that legili-whatsis thing on me," Marcus said, his anger suddenly deflating into panic.

"It wasn't on purpose," she said, taking a quick, wide path around him - she nearly stumbled over one of the low tables, "And even if I didn't - I would have known - my  _father_  is your Head of House. Don't you think he would have told me if you were suddenly in detentions all the time?"

"I don't know," Marcus said, shaking his head, "I didn't - I didn't really think, all right? I was just so angry that… that all this time I didn't even know my own  _girlfriend_ was friends with the biggest arsehole in the whole school, all right?"

"Well," she said, as she crouched by the open trapdoor at the center of the classroom, preparing to lower herself through it, "You don't - I guess you don't have to worry about  _that_  anymore."

"So you're not going to be his friend anymore?" Marcus asked, relieved, "You'll stop talking to him?"

"That's not what I'm saying."

"Calista, then what -"

"I'm saying," she said, quietly, sitting at the edge of the trapdoor, "That I'm not going to be your girlfriend anymore."

She lowered herself clumsily through the door, onto the staircase below, hurrying away - but not before she saw his face - saw his pain just as transparently as she'd seen his lie - and she knew that, no matter how awful she was feeling right now, Marcus was feeling ten times worse.

"Calista, wait - please -" she heard, in a cracking voice she had never heard before, from somewhere up above. Her eyes blurred, and she hurried down the stairs, until she couldn't hear him anymore.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

She had forgotten about the feast - or forgotten what time it was - students were crowding the hallways, as she manoeuvered through them, head ducked, hoping no one would notice she wasn't going to the feast. She was walking blindly; she didn't want to go to the common room, and she didn't want to see her father right now, either…

And then, she remembered. There  _was_  somewhere she could go - somewhere she could be alone - if it still worked the same as it had last time.

She turned around, and traced a path back upstairs, to the seventh floor, at the opposite end from the entrance to the North Tower she'd just left.

The last time she'd come here, with Daisy Spratt, the room had looked like Daisy's childhood bedroom - she hoped it wasn't like that this time, but even if it was, it had to be better than facing anyone in that moment, with tears burning at her eyes and a terrible, guilty hollow in her gut.

She slipped beneath the tapestry, and opened the door -

Tears did start to fall, then.

It was a perfect replica of her father's office.

She lowered herself into the chair that sat in front of his desk, the one she always took when she went to see him, and she put her face in her hands, and she cried.

When her tears were spent, she had nothing left but her thoughts. She stuck her hand into her pocket of her robes, wondering if she had a tissue, or even a scrap of parchment, and then she felt something. Her fingers wrapped around a tiny, familiar book, and she almost started crying again.

She withdrew the diary from her pocket, and opened it. A single blank page stared back at her. The one next to it was full of her own handwriting, from years prior.

She stood up, and moved to the other chair, the one behind her father's desk, and opened the drawer where she knew, in his real office, he kept his quills. There was one, sitting right where it should have been.

She picked it up, and leaned over the book, and started to write.


	4. Chapter 4

"Snapelet. Wake up."

Calista's eyes snapped open, and she sat up quickly, immediately wary. She wasn't sure what time it was, but she felt like she'd only crept back to her dormitory and climbed into bed a couple of hours ago.

"What - what do you want, Avril?"

Olivia looked down at her from the foot of the bed, mouth curling in distaste.

"I don't want to talk to you any more than you want to talk to me," she said, "So I'll make this quick. I'm sure you and Marcus had a fabulous time last night, and I'm sure you don't want Dear Old Daddy to find out about it -"

"What? That's not -"

"I don't care," Olivia cut her off, "Truly, I don't. But something happened last night after the feast, and everyone who missed it was wanted for questioning. Professor Snape asked where you were; I told him you were sleeping in our dormitory, and Portia and Emily backed me up."

Calista blinked. What was Olivia  _talking_  about? And -

"Why?" she asked, narrowing her eyes. "Why would you cover for me?"

"Two reasons. Two things you're going to do for me."

"I didn't-"

"Shut up, Snapelet, so we can finish this and go back to avoiding each other. Firstly, they're about to increase Prefect patrols. You're going to get me a copy of the schedules. Secondly, your smarmy cousin is already trying to convince his little friends that you're the Heir of Slytherin, because you were missing when the message went up. You're going to tell him you think it's me."

" _Firstly_ ," Calista snarled, "I have no idea what the hell you're talking about. And  _secondly_  - I wasn't doing anything wrong last night, so you covered for me for no reason. I don't owe you anything."

Olivia snorted delicately. "Yes, I'm sure it was poetically beautiful, what you did last night - and I'd love to make you squirm by threatening to tell your father about it, but frankly I have things I'd like to do today, and looking at your ugly face a moment longer than strictly necessary isn't one of them."

"Then sod off."

"I intend to, as soon as I've laid this out. I'm not asking you for a lot, and you're going to do it, because even on the off-chance that you  _didn't_  spend last night underneath Marcus, I'm sure you don't want all your little Mudblood friends thinking you're the Heir of Slytherin."

"The  _what_?"

"Ugh, how did you even end up in this House? Have your cousin explain it to you - even that little twerp knows more than you do. Once he does, I'm sure you'll see things my way."

She was done, evidently; she swept from the room, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder. Calista realised that the was the only one in the room, now; it must have been later in the morning than she realised.

If it hadn't been for Olivia, she probably would have slept through the morning - it had been a long night, for her, and she hadn't had a good night's sleep in over a month - but her chances of that were shot, now.

She slid out of bed, and got dressed, checking the pockets of her robes before she left the room, ensuring that both her wand and her diary were within.

The common room was crowded, which immediately put her on edge; she scanned the faces within it from the doorway, and only emerged when she was satisfied that Marcus wasn't there.

Almost as soon as she'd entered the common room, Draco's friends Vincent and Gregory materialised at her side.

"Draco asked you to come sit with us," Vincent said; she felt someone touch her hand, and she pulled it back, jerking her head in time to see Gregory reaching for her.

"Don't touch me," she warned him, but she walked a few steps with them, to where Draco sat practically holding court on one of the long sofas.

"Draco, what's going on?" she asked him, cautiously; the common room was abuzz with animated chatter, but she noticed more than one person looking at her; had word got out about her and Marcus already?

"Sit with us," he invited, "We have some questions - and we want to help."

"All three of us," Vincent said, "We decided."

"Me, too," Gregory added. "I want to help too, Calista."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Well, the Chamber of course. It's brilliant, really," Draco said, lowering his voice, so she had to lean forward to hear him. "I mean, you planned it so well - you even took that point from me, for saying Mudblood-"

"Draco," she said, warningly.

He rolled his eyes. "It's only Slytherins around, Calista, you don't have to pretend."

"Draco, I'm not - "

She stopped; she could see Marcus, shuffling towards the common room, from the corridor that led to the boys' dormitories. His head was down - with any luck, he hadn't spotted her yet.

"I have to go," she said, practically lunging for the common room door.

"Oh," Vincent sighed. "I was hoping we were going to hunt Mudbloods."

"Stop saying that," she snapped over her shoulder, "The three of you sound like idiots."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Calista approached the tall, heavy door that guarded the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room, and reached up to knock -

The knocker moved, seeming to come alive, and she jerked her hand back quickly.

"What must you give before you can keep it?"

A soft, musical voice came from the knocker. Calista blinked.

"What?"

"What must you give before you can keep it?" The knocker said again.

"I'm not trying to get in," she said, uncertainly; she wasn't sure if the knocker could understand her. "I just want my friend to come  _out_."

The knocker was silent now, impassive.

Experimentally, Calista reached out, and knocked on the wood of the door with her knuckles -

Or would have, but the knocker sprang to life again.

"What must you give before you can keep it?"

"Erm," she said, taking a step back. "I don't… oh. A promise."

"Well done," the knocker said, and the door swung open.

Calista stepped cautiously into the common room, and sucked in a breath. The ceiling stretched high, high above her - tall windows let streams of sunlight in, and the walls were covered with bookshelves.

" _Calista?_  What are you doing here?"

She tore her eyes away from the nearest set of shelves, to look at Gerald. He had risen from a table covered with a stack of books, and was looking at her quizzically.

"Huh? Calista's here?" Amelia jumped up from an armchair, and scurried over to her.

"Amelia!" Calista said, relieved. "I was hoping I'd find you."

"Did someone let you in, or did you get the riddle?" Amelia asked.

"I got the riddle - Amelia, can I - can we - I have to talk to you. "

A few other students were looking at them now, wondering, no doubt, how a Slytherin had ended up in their common room. Amelia looped her arm through Calista's, and turned towards the door.

"Of course," she said, ushering her out. She waited until they had closed the large, heavy door firmly behind her, before she turned to her friend. "Calista, what happened? Is it - it's not about that stupid Chamber thing, is it?"

Calista blinked.

"No. I - I never heard of it before this morning. All I know is that my cousin thinks it has something to do with me, and Olivia wants everyone to think it has something to do with her. Amelia, I -" she stopped, shaking her head. How could she explain what had happened, in that strange, dim classroom?

"I never heard about it either, but it's all anyone can talk about today. So… what's up, then? Is this a library conversation, or a hide in an empty classroom conversation?"

"I broke up with Marcus last night." It turned out it was easy to explain, after all.

Amelia's eyes widened.

"Empty classroom," she said, at once, "But first - snacks. Let's go nick stuff from the kitchens."

"I'm not hungry."

"Breakups require snacks," Amelia said firmly, leading her by the arm in the direction of the kitchens, "And maybe some wine, if we can find it. I've seen teachers have it, there's got to be some around somewhere."

Despite Calista's protesting, they were soon huddled up in the Ancient Runes classroom, with a pile of food on the desk between them. Amelia hadn't managed to find any wine, but she had found three bottles of butterbeer hidden behind a large pot. She opened two of them and passed one across to Calista.

"So what happened?" Amelia asked, "Did he try to make you touch his man broomstick, or something?"

"Ugh! You're gross," Calista said, taking a healthy swig of butterbeer. " _No_. He just… he told me about something he did…"

She relayed the story of Marcus' bullying of Gerald, and his lying to her, and what she'd said in return.

"You know why he was so upset, right?" Amelia asked, around a mouthful of cake.

"Because he doesn't get along with Gerald, I guess."

Amelia swallowed, and took a sip of her own butterbeer. "He was jealous. It's just like with Percy, remember? He kept thinking you were going to suddenly fancy Percy, so he was a jerk to him, too. He obviously thinks the same thing about Gerry. It's stupid, though, because Percy's been in love with Penny since like, second year, and Gerry… well, you know."

"I don't know if he was really  _jealous_  - " Calista started, and Amelia snorted.

"Oh, yes, he was -"

"And what do I know about Gerry - Gerald?"

"Oh," Amelia said, "Right, I forget, it's mostly just Ravenclaws who know. You know Gwen, in our Arithmancy class?"

She nodded.

"Well, she used to have a massive crush on him - I mean, it was pretty obvious, everyone knew it, she was like, writing his name in little hearts in her class notes and everything. He mostly just pretended not to notice, until she finally asked him out - I think this was two or three years ago - and he said he was worried a relationship might interfere with their academics."

"Oh."

Amelia grinned. "'Course, I'd say that too, if Gwen asked me out - can you imagine kissing someone like that? I bet she tastes like old parchment."

"I can honestly say," Calista said, suddenly deciding she was hungry after all, and reaching for an apple, "That I've never imagined kissing Gwen Pierce, and I don't intend to start now. Can we get back to the part where you tell me Marcus is a prat and I haven't made a mistake?"

Amelia's grin widened. "Thought you'd never ask. He's a jealous prat, he's about as clever as bludger, and he's not even that cute from the neck up."

Calista frowned. "That's a bit cruel…and at least one of those things isn't true."

"Oh," Amelia added, smirking, "And I bet he has a small -"

"You are  _so gross_ ," Calista scowled. "What's  _wrong_  with you?"

"I was going to say brain," she said, innocently.

"Sure you were," Calista said, shaking her head. She slipped one hand into her pocket and fingered the pages of her diary, bringing the apple to her face with the other hand and taking a large bite.

"The thing is, though," she said, after she swallowed. "He did a lot of nice things, too… I started writing a list last night, of the… the good things, and the bad things. I'm pretty sure he's going to try to talk to me about it, and I - I want to figure out what I should say."

"All right," Amelia said, "Let's go over the list, then."

Calista hesitated, then pulled the diary out, opening it in her free hand. All of the pages were crowded with writing; whatever magic had revealed a blank page to her the night before wasn't in effect at the moment. She flipped through, until she found the page she was looking for.

"Erm… that's a blank page," Amelia said.

"Not to me. So… so here are the nice things. He sticks up for me a lot - with Olivia, especially when we were younger...and with other people, too. He… I think he really does care about me… he made sure I didn't get in trouble with the whole Quirrell thing - and he was still nice to me after that happened."

Amelia frowned guiltily, and reached for her butterbeer again, draining half of it in one gulp.

"And he  _is_  cute, and I used to really like kissing him… and he did this really sweet thing for Christmas a couple of years ago, he got me all these potions ingredients that came from plants - they were useful flowers, get it?"

"Okay," Amelia said, "So what's on the bad list?"

"Well… the bullying thing, obviously. The way he is to Gerald - and to Percy, too, I guess. And he lied to me. And…he doesn't care about school at all - but I don't care about Quidditch, so I guess I can't really hold that against him -"

"Sure you can. You've broken up, you can hold whatever you want against him."

"Amelia, come on. I… I feel bad. You should have seen his face, he looked… devastated."

"Well, maybe he should be devastated," Amelia said, "You know what I always hated? He knew how important it was to you for him to get along with us - me and Penny and Perce - and he was always kind of a jerk to all of us. And I don't - I mean, I think it bothered Percy more than it bothered me, but - we could all see that it  _really_  bothered you. Especially all those times when he'd just show up when we already doing something, and ask you to choose, us or him. And then he'd be cross with you any time you chose us."

"Well, I really didn't spend as much time with him as I should have…"

"Yeah, maybe," Amelia said, "But that's his fault, too. We invited him to do things with us loads of times, and he only ever wanted to see you alone."

"Well… that's because he usually wanted to… uhm,  _be alone_ , you know?"

"Okay, well, that's the other thing," Amelia said, setting her empty butterbeer bottle down and opening the third one. "I mean, I know I've made jokes about it, but it's not right that he kept trying to pressure you into things you weren't ready for."

"He didn't really, I guess. I mean, he always said I didn't have to do anything I didn't want to -"

Amelia slid the opened butterbeer across the table to Calista. "If he really meant that, he wouldn't have kept asking."

"You can have that," Calista said, lifting her own bottle and wiggling it to show it was still half-full. "He did say - he was supposed to - we agreed, a while ago, that he would ask me before he tried something… you know, something new or whatever… but he kept forgetting to ask."

Amelia rolled her eyes. "Sure,  _forgetting_. Boys, I'm telling you."

"So you think… you think I did the right thing, then?"

"Well, when's the last time you actually enjoyed spending time with him?"

Calista considered. "I guess," she said at last, "It's been a while. Before the summer."

"See, just think," Amelia said, "If you'd broken up with him back  _then_ , you could already have another boyfriend by now - one who's not an arsehole and has a big -"

"Amelia!"

"Brain," Amelia finished, and flashed a grin.

"You're awful," Calista said, affectionately. "And anyway, after all this, the  _last_  thing I want is another boyfriend. I just want - I just want to be able to keep up with my homework, and have a conversation with my Dad where he doesn't ask me if anyone needs poisoning, and actually hang out with my friends without anyone asking me to go - go -"

"To France?" Amelia suggested helpfully.

"Yeah, exactly. Maybe Gerald has the right idea about things."

"I'll tell him you said that - he loves finding out when he's right about something. Not as much as Percy does, mind you."

Calista put her diary back in her pocket and finished her apple, chucking the core towards the bin in the corner of the classroom; she missed, and had to guide it in with her wand.

"Thanks for all this," Calista said, gesturing to the significantly reduced pile of food. "Even though you ate most of it. And thanks for… you know."

"'Course," Amelia said, "Anytime. Oh, hey, can I ask you for one thing in return, though?"

"What?"

" _Please_ ," Amelia said, "Let me be the one to tell Penny and Percy."

"Yeah, fine," Calista said, "I don't really want to talk to them about it, anyway."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Calista reluctantly made her way back to the dungeons, internally calculating how long she could likely avoid Marcus. She knew him well enough to know that he would probably want to talk to her; he might even ask her to reconsider, which was precisely why she'd had to talk to Amelia before she spoke to him again.

She had been and was still tempted to ask her father if she could call Narcissa up on the fireplace in his study, but part of her was afraid that her aunt would be disappointed; after all, she had been vocal, always, about declaring that Marcus was an appropriate match for her. Even her Uncle Lucius approved - and he and Marcus' dad were friendly, as far as she knew.

She ran into Sofia and Eva in the corridor, and said a quick hello, hoping she could move on without a conversation. She still didn't know if Marcus had told anyone.

"Oh! Calista, I'm glad we ran into you," Sofia said, "Marcus is looking for you. He's in the common room."

"Oh. Actually -" She started to invent an excuse, about having left something behind in the library perhaps, or possibly about needing to flee the country, immediately, but a familiar, silky voice cut across the corridor, just as its owner came around the corner.

"Mr. Flint can wait, I'm sure," Severus said, "Calista, may I speak with you a moment?"

She nodded, unsure how she felt; on the one hand, his showing up now, when Marcus was apparently waiting for her in the common room, seemed almost like being rescued - but on the other hand, she wasn't sure she was prepared to face whatever he might say about the situation. What if he decided he should make good on his threats to poison Marcus? She might not want to be in a relationship with him anymore, but she didn't want  _that_.

"Ooh," Sofia said sympathetically, "I hope you're not in trouble."

"See if you can find out anything from him about the Chamber," Eva whispered.

"Miss Selwyn, Miss Lima. I trust you know your way to wherever it is you are heading?"

They took the hint, nodding and continuing quickly on their way, and Calista followed Severus into his office.

She smiled slightly when he sat behind his desk, and she settled into the chair in front of it. All that was missing was a stack of essays for him to mark; but she supposed she'd made it through last night all right without that.

"You look tired," Severus opened with, concerned. "Didn't you get enough sleep last night?"

"No. Not really."

He frowned. "I had hoped, when I learned that you had slept through the feast, that you would at least be well-rested the next time I saw you."

She shifted uncomfortably; she wasn't ready to tell him, just yet, where she'd actually been during the feast.

"What happened last night, after the feast?" she asked, more to change the subject than anything else, "Everyone's been talking about it all day - something about a Chamber, and the 'Heir of Slytherin'. Draco and his friends seem to think it has something to do with  _me_."

"An irony, as I suspect the possibility that the actual perpetrator is in fact attempting to frame Draco," Severus said, drily. "Filch's wretched, mangy little cat was cursed last night, and whoever did it wrote a message on the wall, indicating that it had been done by a Slytherin. And yet - it was famous Potter and his friends who were discovered at the scene."

"What exactly did the message say?" she wondered.

"'The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir beware'," Severus quoted, "And of course, enough students have heard some snatch of a story from their parents that it didn't take long for the 'of Slytherin' to be added to the gossip."

"Well, I wouldn't be surprised if it was a Slytherin who started  _that_ particular part of the rumour," Calista said, "A lot of students - well, in the common room, a lot of people seemed particularly interested in the story. Draco and his friends were almost  _excited_ , and Olivia Avril wants everyone to think she's behind what happened."

Severus frowned; he seemed slightly surprised. "Still," he said, "I suspect that whatever is happening, a Gryffindor is behind it."

"What is the Chamber of Secrets?" she asked, "I've never heard of it."

"Admittedly, I don't know very much, either," he said, "Something happened many years ago that was attributed to the Chamber - some sort of attack on a student, that resulted in her death. Supposedly, a student was keeping some manner of Dark creature hidden as a pet somewhere within the school, and it went on the attack. I don't know how much of this 'Chamber of Secrets' rhetoric is accurate. Stories do tend to change over time."

"Someone  _died_? You're remarkably calm about this."

"The creature, and the student keeping it, were found and dealt with. If this Chamber ever did exist, it's my understanding that it doesn't exist anymore. I suspect  _someone_  came across the story, and decided it would be amusing to arrange a scenario that would cast suspicion on Slytherin House."

Calista frowned, digesting the information. Admittedly, from what Draco had told her about the Potter boy and his friends, it did seem possible. Perhaps she should warn Draco to be more careful what he said, and avoid playing into the trap - but then, it was becoming clear that Draco did not care to heed her advice on what to say, and what  _not_  to.

"What happened to the cat?" she asked, "What sort of curse was it?"

"Ah - actually, that's the reason I sought you out," Severus said, "The cat was Petrified. I've been asked to make a Mandrake Restorative Draught, as soon as the school's mandrakes are matured enough to use. I thought perhaps you would like to learn how to make the potion."

"It's very complicated, isn't it?" she asked, with obvious interest. "Doesn't it require an infusion that stews for a month?"

"Twenty-eight days," he said, "And then salamander eyes need to be pickled in the infusion for a minimum of another forty. I have dittany for the infusion, but we'd need to go into the forest to gather the fluxweed."

"Does it need to be picked at the full moon for this one," she asked, doing a quick calculation in her head, "Or the waning?"

"Waning."

"Ah," Calista said, "Then you're planning on harvesting it tonight, aren't you?"

"Would you like to come?"

She didn't need long to consider. "Yes, I would."

"The moon should be high enough in about two hours," Severus said, "Do you want to come back here with your cloak after dinner?"

Calista shifted. "Actually," she said, "Can I just stay here until it's time to go? And maybe… maybe borrow a cloak from you?"

Severus raised his eyebrows.

"I want to read more of that book," she said, quickly, before he could ask her any questions, "The patronus book - but I left Gerald's copy in my room. Can I use yours?"

Severus looked like he dearly wanted to ask a follow-up question, but Calista closed her expression off, making it clear she didn't want to answer one. He studied her carefully, and a slight frown crossed his face.

"Very well," he said at last, rising, and motioning for her to proceed into his quarters, "I'll fetch it for you from downstairs - but not until after you eat something. I'm having a meal sent up."

"I ate an apple a little while ago," she said, defensively.

"What else have you eaten today?"

She didn't answer.

"And what did you eat last night, since you missed the feast?"

"Dad, I appreciate your concern, but I'm fine."

Severus ushered her into the kitchen, and waved his wand at the table, conjuring a plate of sandwiches. "Eat," he commanded, and he didn't leave the room until she dutifully picked up one of the sandwiches.

When he returned a moment later, setting the book carefully on the table, he also hung a spare cloak on the back of her chair.

"Occlumens or no," he said quietly, "I know when you're lying to me."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Severus watched his daughter over the fringe of damp fluxweed she sorted through, picking off the most well-developed lengths and laying them carefully in the basket by her feet.

The ground, and much of the vegetation within the forest, were still wet from the heavy rains the day before, and it was cold enough to make their breath fog - in short, it had not been a particularly pleasant walk, but Calista hadn't complained.

She was absorbed in sorting through the stems; he paused his own work, and used the opportunity to study her, by the weak moonlight. She had always been quite thin, but he thought that she was beginning to look positively bony. Having his large cloak draped over her narrow shoulders was only accentuating it - and the moonlight highlighted the hollows in her cheeks, and the shadows underneath her eyes.

"Have you been having more nightmares?" he asked her quietly, seemingly out of nowhere, for he knew that was often a reason why she would appear sleep-deprived.

She flicked her eyes briefly across to him, and then returned to her work. For a moment, he thought she wouldn't answer, but then, finally, while carefully inspecting a stem an arm's reach away from herself, she did.

"Not really," she said, finally. "A few… a few variations on the one I told you about recently. The duel. Other things. But they're not legilimency dreams."

"Do you need a potion?" he asked, even though he hated the idea of creating a dependency on them; it was why he'd stopped giving them to her, long ago. "To let you sleep?"

"No," she said, and she frowned. "The milder ones don't always work, and the stronger ones make me feel strange the next day. Fuzzy. I'd worry that it would affect my studies."

"You look as though you haven't slept in a week," he said, strained, "Despite missing dinner to catch up on sleep."

She broke off another stem, laying it carefully in the basket.

"Well," she said, very softly, a moment later; he'd almost forgotten what he had last said. "I wasn't actually sleeping. Olivia lied to you; she didn't know where I was. I didn't ask her to, but she mistakenly believed that 'covering' for me would put me in her debt."

Severus opened his mouth, and then closed it. Perhaps, if he kept quiet, and if she kept her hands busy, she would continue without prompting.

"I was hiding," she said, still quite softly; he could hardly hear her over the rhythmic rustle of stems and leaves, the occasional splash of a water droplet onto a lower leaf, as she sorted through the plants. "I didn't want to talk to anyone. I went back to my dormitory in the middle of the night, when I knew no one would be up to ask me any questions."

She examined one stem, frowning; it was not yet mature enough, he could see it at a distance. She let go of it, and moved onto a taller stem.

"I broke up with Marcus yesterday," she said, in barely more than a whisper; he almost questioned whether he had really heard her speak, but a little puff of fog in front of her mouth confirmed that she had.

She paused, and wiped a finger across her cheekbone; she could have been wiping away a tear, or it could have been a loose hair or even a gnat; it was too dark to tell.

There were a great many things that crossed his mind to ask, in that instant, but he settled for the one that really mattered; with effort, he forced his question to come out soft, even.

"Did he hurt you?"

She shook her head, reaching for another cluster of stems; she glanced down at the basket. They had nearly enough now.

"If anything, it might be the other way around," Calista said, "Please don't take anything out on him - and definitely don't poison him. I just…"

She sighed, releasing another stem that was not yet mature enough, another puff of white fog rising into the air.

"I thought at the time that it was just one thing he did that I was angry about - not to me, but to a friend of mine - but the more I think about it, and - and after talking to Amelia about it, I think, actually… there have been a lot of things I didn't like. Small things, mostly, but… I guess the one thing was the breaking point, the point where I realised that all of the bad things were beginning to outweigh the good things. And… I mean, we never really had much in common…"

Well, that much was true; Severus studied her face intently while she spoke, alert for any sign that there was something else, something she wasn't willing to tell him - if she was lying, if that boy  _had_  done something to hurt her…

"I hate that he let Draco on the Quidditch team without having him try out," she said, and her voice rose slightly. She lifted the basket, trying to judge whether they had enough.

"A few more stems," he told her, even though they had more than enough.

"Just because he wanted those stupid broomsticks," she continued. "And I'm happy for Draco, of course, but I spent the entirety of last term telling Draco I wouldn't ask Marcus to let him on as a special favour because it wouldn't be fair. And then… after the duel… the Quirrell thing… I guess it bothered me how impressed he was by the whole thing, by what I'd done, when - when I felt so _sick_ about it."

She picked off a few more stems, laying them carefully on top of the already overfull basket.

"There were already a hundred things like that," she said, lifting the basket, and getting slowly to her feet - there was no way he could possibly say they needed more now, there was barely room for her to slip her skinny forearm through the handle, "And then I found out he was bullying one of my friends, and he  _lied_  to me about it - even though he knows I can do legilimency, that it even happens by accident sometimes - and I'm not even sure why that made me so angry."

She brushed off the front of the borrowed cloak, dislodging some damp bits of plant matter, and adjusted the weight of the basket on her arm.

"Maybe because it was stupid to lie," she said, "Or maybe I was mad at  _me_  for not being able to control it. I wasn't trying to read him, and it's not the first time it's happened like that, with him."

"You told Flint you're a legilimens?" Severus asked, working to keep his tone neutral.

"Well, I sort of felt like I had to," she said, glancing at him, as they set off back towards the castle. "It kept happening, that I'd accidentally read his thoughts, and it didn't seem fair. I suppose maybe it was what you told me before - it's easier to pick up on thoughts that are about yourself… but I didn't tell him about our lessons, or anything like that. I made it sound more like this occasional, strange thing that I could sometimes do."

"You need to be more careful," he said, "Legilimency is not an art that is well or widely understood; it's most well-known practitioner was the Dark Lord himself, and -"

Severus paused; they had cleared the edge of the forest now. He stopped walking, and placed his hand on his daughter's shoulder, waited to continue until she looked up at him, dark, shadowed eyes on his own.

"Calista, there will be people who will judge you unfairly, if they find out legilimency is a skill you possess. And as with occlumency, it is a weapon that is more effective if no one realises it is at your disposal. I would advise you not to tell anyone, but if you must - I would caution you to be extremely careful, extremely  _selective_ , who you choose to reveal the nature of your skills to."

"I realise all of that," she said quietly, turning her face away from him and taking a step forward, so that his hand slipped off her shoulder. "I just felt that it was the right thing to do, given the circumstances."

Severus matched her stride, keeping close to her side. "Then I suppose there's no merit in arguing it with you further; it's done, anyway. I'm only asking you to use more caution in the future -"

"Consider it done."

They continued on in silence for several paces; Severus wondered if he had said something wrong, or if there was something right he was meant to have said but hadn't.

"As for reading the Flint boy -" he began.

"Dad, we don't need to talk about it anymore."

"You said you were angry with yourself for doing it; you needn't be."

"Dad…" she said almost warningly, but he pressed on.

"Very, very few people have any sort of natural ability in the mental arts," he said, "Those that are gifted with it often are because of necessity; you're a prime example of such a case. A similarly small number of people have absolutely no proclivity towards guarding their thoughts at all, and, I believe, no ability to learn the skill. Most people - almost everyone you have ever met - fall somewhere in the spectrum between; some are easier to read than others. Some can, with time and dedication, become reasonably skilled practitioners of occlumency, or legilimency, or both."

"You've told me all of this before."

"The Flint boy," Severus said, nostrils flaring, "Is at the complete opposite end of the spectrum from you; he has, in my observation, never possessed an ounce of ability or inclination to hide a single thought in his head - that you were only able to pick them up from time to time suggests that you tried very hard  _not_  to, and frankly, I refuse to let you fault yourself for that boy's shortcomings."

It was why he had known, from very early on, that the boy - almost unfortunately - did, in his way, truly and deeply care for Calista; and it was why he had begrudgingly, fearfully, tolerated many of the other things that he had seen in the boy's head. Even given that, if he had been even slightly less confident in his daughter's willpower, her strength of character, he didn't think he could have overlooked it all and given his reluctant blessing to their relationship, no matter how much Narcissa insisted Calista would resent him if he didn't.

"You say that as if you were able to pick up his thoughts, too," she said, and he detected a note of caution, of trepidation, in her voice.

"Yes," he said, "And whatever it is that you're afraid, just now, that I saw - Let me assure you that I did, and probably more besides."

He let his words sink in; he saw her pace slow, and she brought her free hand to grip the edge of the basket tightly; he knew her well enough to know she did it to stop her fingers from trembling.

"And I hope," Severus said, with a deadly sort of softness, "You understand, now, how much trust I place in you."

She was silent, after that, until they reached the front door of the castle, long past the time when dinner ended. The corridors were as silent as a grave, so that when she finally did respond, her words echoed off the stone walls.

"I don't plan on giving you a reason to revoke it," she said, and he almost heard it twice.

He nodded, tightly. When they reached his office, he took the basket, and his spare cloak, from her.

"You can sleep here," he told her, "And I'm watching you eat three solid meals tomorrow - you can take them here or in the Great Hall, but you will take them."

"You worry about me too much," she said, but he detected a small, warm smile playing about her mouth.

"I suppose maybe I do," he said, "Probably because  _you_  don't often worry about yourself enough."

"Well," she said, eyeing him meaningfully, "Where do you suppose I get that from? You never ate dinner yourself."


	5. Chapter 5

Calista sat at her usual spot at her father's kitchen table, legs curled up underneath her, hunched over a book. A half-eaten breakfast sat forgotten by her elbow; her father had made sure she ate at least some of it before he left the little kitchen to prepare for his morning classes, and she'd returned the favor, glaring at him reproachfully until he'd eaten a sausage and a few slices of toast.

As soon as he'd left, however, she'd shoved her breakfast aside and opened the borrowed book where she had previously left off.

_Trauma survivors, particularly those that have achieved some sort of triumph over the event or circumstance, generally have quite a different outlook than the general population, so perhaps it is not surprising that their Patronus may need to come from a different place; they may not possess memories of untempered happiness, or those memories may have been tarnished or overshadowed._

_That is not to say, of course, that these survivors cannot feel joy; on the contrary, they often feel it more intensely than others, because they have a sufficiently different background to process it against, and may appreciate small joys that others take for granted. Take for example the case study we examined in Chapter Seven, of Song Ng, who, after serving five years in solitary confinement in an underground cell for a crime he did not commit, regained the ability to produce a Patronus when he recalled the memory of the sunlight on his skin on his day of release; it then took the shape of a hummingbird, the first creature he saw upon regaining his freedom. In his memoirs, he writes that he never appreciated the daylight properly until it had effectively been stolen from him. Intriguingly, Mr. Ng also reports that his patronus in its hummingbird form appears clearer, and more corporeal than it did in its original form, before his wrongful imprisonment._

_Still others, particularly those that have played some active part in their own rescue or retribution, cite their triumph over their traumatic circumstances as the primary pinnacle of their strength, and therefore the cornerstone of their happiness. Recall the case of Hannah Bannister, who brought her husband's murderer to justice when he was a casualty of the First Wizarding War; only after she saw his killer placed behind bars by her testimony was she able to conjure a Patronus again, and in another case of form shifting, her revived Patronus took the same form that her husband's had when he lived. When I interviewed Mrs. Bannister regarding her method for conjuring her Patronus in its new form, she stated that she reached first for the memory of her husband's death, and then for the moment of justice when she witnessed his killer being led away in irons. During her journey to find, expose, and bring to justice the man who had effectively stolen her life, she states that she found the strength and self-reliance necessary to begin a new one, and that it was the final, and most touching gift, she received from her late husband._

_Thus far, we have discussed cases where the ability to produce a Patronus was lost and re-learned, but my research suggests that the same principles can hold true for those who suffered traumas earlier in life, before the first attempt at a Patronus was ever made. These individuals often fail to produce a Patronus when the traditional 'happiest memory' approach is used, and may even initially believe themselves incapable of producing one. However, in my work with such individuals, I have seen many successes when employing my alternate method, of determining and using for inspiration that which forms the foundation of the subject's core of inner strength. One does need a considerable amount of self-awareness, and a certain degree of high order thinking skills in order to be sufficiently introspective enough to uncover and effectively process that which drives them; though I have not had the pleasure of working with many -_

"Calista," Severus said, and she started, not having heard him re-enter the room. She looked up, tearing her eyes reluctantly from the page. "You're going to be late for class; don't you still need to return to your dormitory and get dressed?"

She'd hurriedly thrown on the same clothes she'd worn yesterday. She glanced up at the clock, and frowned.

"I have Defence first thing this morning," she said, "I imagine Lockhart will be too busy fluffing his hair to pay attention to something so trivial as my attendance."

Severus' mouth twitched into a smirk. "Be that as it may," he said, "It is still advisable for you to show up."

She rolled her eyes. "Do you know, I failed the last homework assignment? He asked us to write a poem about him defeating a banshee by  _singing_ to it."

"Ah - and did you?"

She snorted. "No, I wrote an essay about Inferi."

"That was probably a wise choice. I don't recall Lockhart's singing voice ever featuring on the N.E.W.T. exams."

"Do I really have to go to his pointless class?"

"Unfortunately, I'm afraid the answer is yes."

She sighed. "Two minutes," she said, "I want to finish this page."

"Very well; are you coming here, or going to the Great Hall for lunch?"

"I don't know; here, I suppose."

He nodded. "I'll see you later, then; I'm nearly late for my own class."

As soon as he left the kitchen, she hunched over the book again.

_Though I have not had the pleasure of working with many Occlumens or Legilimens, those few I have worked with tend to show the most promise in this regard, as they naturally possess a very good understanding of the workings and architecture of their own minds. Indeed, I have found such practitioners to be particularly prime subjects for my studies because the conjuring of a Patronus is, at its core, more a discipline of the mental arts than a true charm, and as such, these subjects are often able to analyse and describe the internal process with impressive acuity; it was based on the self-reporting of a Legilimens friend of mine that I first based my initial theory in this discipline._

Calista allowed herself a small smile. Maybe she  _did_ have a chance at conjuring a Patronus.

She glanced up at the clock again; her father was right. She had about six minutes to change and then race to class. The upside of being so late was that most other students were likely to be in class already, or on their way - and she knew Marcus had Care of Magical Creatures first thing on Mondays, all the way across the grounds, so he was bound to be gone. It seemed she would be able to avoid him just a little bit longer.

Calista tucked the book under her arm, and hurried back to her room.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

She managed, by hiding out in her father's quarters or his office between classes and until bedtime, and by taking most of her meals there, to avoid Marcus until Wednesday, but in the evening, her luck ran out.

She'd returned to her dormitory after dinner, so she could retrieve Gerald's copy of the Patronus book; since she now had her father's copy, she thought she ought to return his, in case he needed it. On the way back, with both copies tucked under her arm, and the passage regarding Occlumens echoing in her head, she forgot to keep a careful lookout, and Marcus stepped neatly in front of her, blocking her path.

"Calista," he said, with an urgent note in his voice, "Can we talk, please?"

"I have my Prefect patrol," she said, avoiding his gaze. "I'll be late."

"Let Boot do it."

"That's not really how it works…"

"Please," he said again, "I hate fighting with you."

She blinked and glanced up; there was a naked hope in his eyes, and also - a significant measure of denial. She looked away again, somewhere over his shoulder.

"We're not fighting, Marcus," she said, quietly, "We're broken up."

"I thought maybe - I was hoping you were just cross," he said, and she heard his voice crack, like it had when he'd called after her on Saturday.

She shook her head, and wondered what else she was supposed to say, or do. Maybe she  _should_  have called Narcissa up, and asked for advice.

"Can we just - can I just talk to you?" he said, "In the Owlery, or maybe - maybe one of the towers…"

"No," she said, "I don't want to go off alone with you, and I don't have time. If you want - "

She sighed, and glanced around the common room. There were a handful of students studying or socialising, but a long sofa near the fireplace was empty. She shifted the weight of the books in her arm, and gestured to it. "If you want to talk for a few minutes, we can talk right here, but after that, I really do need to go."

He nodded, reluctantly, and followed her; she felt something and glanced back - his hand hovered, not quite touching her, but near her waist, as if he'd been about to slip his arm around her and only remembered, at the last minute, that he wasn't allowed to anymore.

She perched on the far end of the sofa, and set the books down next to her, forcing him to the other end. He frowned, and turned towards her. She could feel his gaze on her, but she tried to avoid it - it didn't seem right, somehow, to look in his eyes when she might potentially pick up on his thoughts. She supposed it was something like his slipping an arm around her - something that she no longer had the right to do.

"I still think," Marcus said, "That it's not fair for you to be friends with Boot -"

"Marcus," she started, warningly; he pressed on.

"But I shouldn't've lied to you, and I'm sorry I got so angry, too. I think I - I realised after that I might've made you scared, and I didn't mean to."

She nodded, recalling the rage in his face, in his movements, and the way that she had involuntarily flinched away from it. "You did," she said, quietly.

"I'm sorry for that too, then. I - Calista, I care about you so much, I never meant to make you scared."

"I know," she said, quietly. "But, Marcus, I -"

"Please give me another chance," he said, quickly, leaning awkwardly towards her, over the books. "I'll do anything - I'll try harder to be nice to your weird Arithmancy friends, I'll be more careful about - about touching you by surprise. Whatever you want."

"We've already tried that," she said, "More than once. And I tried to spend more time with you, and to feel more comfortable with… with being alone and all of that. And… Marcus, we failed at it - all of it - every time."

"This time," he said, almost pleadingly, "It will be different. I'll  _really_  try. I just can't do this - every time I look at you, I just want to kiss you  _so much_ , and I hate that I can't. I miss you."

She pressed her lips together a moment, and then exhaled, working to keep her expression neutral. She felt an ache of sadness in her chest, but she also felt a strong sense of calm, beneath it, that she hadn't felt for the last several months of their relationship.

"I'm really sorry, Marcus," she said, quite sincerely, "But I've made up my mind. I care a lot about you, too, but I just don't want to be with you like that, anymore."

He was quiet for a long moment, and she dared a glance up at him, hopeful that with time, perhaps they could return to simply being friends - and then she saw the clouded hurt in his eyes become tainted with something else, something harder and piteous.

"It's that wretched Weasley, isn't it?" he challenged, quietly and gruffly. "You fancy him now instead, don't you?"

Calista rolled her eyes, unable to mask her impatience. "This again? Marcus, this is stupid."

"Yeah," he said, voice cracking again, "Stupid like me, right? So… so it'll be you and  _him_ , just being so bloody  _clever_  together all the time -"

"For Merlin's sake, Marcus, that's the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard."

"Well, it's got to be Weasley," Marcus pressed on recklessly, and she could see his shoulders shaking with emotion, as his face twisted unappealingly with mingled sorrow and jealousy - she realised with a disappointed little pang that Amelia had been right about him, yet again. "Can't be Boot - your family would never let you be with a half-blood."

She leapt up, snatching both copies of the book.

"I can't believe you would say that to me," she said, softly but with the forceful shake of anger in her voice, "You know I've never even  _looked_  at anyone but you, and if you don't see that, it's your own damn fault."

"Calista, I'm sorry -" he said again, fading again into contrition once he was faced with the forcefulness of her reaction.

"Don't ever talk about my family again," she said, clutching the books to her chest and making as swift an exit as she could.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

She was about fifteen minutes late for her patrol, when all was said and done. She caught sight of Gerald and a younger student in the corridor along the way, and took a breath, rearranging her expression, and pushing her conversation with Marcus somewhere further down to process later.

As she drew closer, she realised that the younger student was his brother, Terry.

"Well, but you're a  _tutor_ ," the younger boy was saying, spiritedly, "So if  _you_  gave me a note -"

"I can't, Terry," Gerald said firmly. "You'll have to ask one of your professors. And I absolutely -"

"Can't you just look the other way?" Terry asked resentfully.

"Cannot look the other way," Gerald finished, and Terry made a rude noise.

"You're such a swot, Gerry - oh, look," he said, brightening slightly as he noticed Calista approaching. "It's your Slytherin friend - I bet  _she_  knows something about the Chamber."

Gerald turned; for an instant she thought she saw an odd flicker in his face, but it was gone before she had time to interpret it. Still, she could hazard a guess as to what it had been.

"I'm sorry I'm late," she said, still clutching the books, "I was - erm, someone stopped me on my way here."

"Where's the Chamber?" Terry asked, boldly. "And what's in it?"

"Terry!" Gerald admonished, flushing slightly.

"I haven't the slightest idea," she said, and then remembering what her father had said: "Perhaps you should ask Potter; he's in your year, isn't he?"

Gerald frowned thoughtfully, while Terry's face lit up.

"That's right - he was there, when the message went up."

"Terry, I really don't think you should be going around badgering other students about this," Gerald began, reproachfully, but Terry was already halfway down the corridor.

Gerald sighed, and shifted his gaze to Calista. "I hope he doesn't start any trouble. Do you really think Harry Potter has something to do with the Chamber?"

"My father does," she said, uncertainly; she cocked her head, looking briefly down the corridor the way Terry had gone. When she turned back to Gerald, a thought had occurred to her.

"You know, he - your brother - reminds me a bit of my cousin, sometimes."

Gerald frowned again, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

"Gerald? What's wrong?"

He blinked behind his glasses.

"You… erm, you weren't there, after the feast, when the writing was discovered, were you?"

"No, I…" - _was breaking up with Marcus-_ "wasn't."

"Your cousin…" Gerald glanced away a second, and then back, steadily but unhappily. "He said something, Calista, and I'm afraid an awful lot of people heard it. I had to take points from Slytherin, naturally, but - I don't think it's enough. Perhaps you can talk to him."

Calista felt her stomach sink. "He said the 'M' word again, didn't he?"

Gerald nodded, still visibly, distinctly unhappy. "He did. It was worse than that, actually - it was something of a threat. He said, 'Enemies of the Heir, beware - you'll be next.' And… I thought you should know, he's been heavily implying that the Heir is -"

"Me," Calista interrupted, heavily. She had hoped Draco's idiotic rumour hadn't yet made it out of Slytherin House - but then, when did things like that  _ever_  work out for her?

"Well, he didn't say that precisely, but he hinted that it was someone close to him, and it certainly seems like that was the impression he was trying to leave."

"I'll talk to him again," she said, softly; she felt the ache of sadness from earlier returning, but for an entirely different reason. She remembered what Olivia had said to her, a few days ago.  _I'm sure you don't want all your little Mudblood friends thinking you're the Heir of Slytherin_. She doubted, somehow, that Draco was spreading all of the rumours himself. "But I don't know how much good it will do; I already talked to him about it on Sunday."

Gerald nodded, and glanced towards the open doorway of the library. "Well, if you could try. It's - erm, it's nearly nine o'clock; I suppose we should begin herding students back towards their common rooms."

She ducked her head, and swept into the library, glad for the excuse to avert her gaze, and began to wrestle with this new fear, that she would once again lose the confidence of her friends over their fear that she might have done something evil - only this time, she really and truly hadn't done  _anything_  - but it wouldn't matter, not when her mother was who she was.

She forced the thought down, and felt a familiar, unwelcome little knot begin to form in her gut.

"Calista," Gerald said, quietly, from somewhere behind her; she turned, and realised he was still lingering near the doorway. "I don't suppose I really need to say this, but just in case, I will. I - we - your friends - Calista, we know it could never be you."

She relaxed her shoulders, hadn't realised she had even tensed them up - without knowing she was going to, she smiled a melty, wavering, relieved, sort of smile. The knot in her gut unfurled, and dissolved, as quickly as it had begun to appear. "Thank you," she said, and then she remembered that she was still cradling two copies of the Patronus book.

"Oh - and, I wanted to return your book," she said, lifting his top copy off and holding it out to him. "It turns out my dad has the same one, so I figured I'd just borrow his, so you can re-read yours again if you want to."

"Thank you," he echoed, taking it carefully back. "I've made a few attempts at casting the charm, you know, and I haven't had much luck, so I may very well do that."

"I haven't tried yet," Calista said, "But I'm about three-quarters finished with the book, and I'd like to start trying soon. Maybe we can practise together later on this week?"

Gerald's careful, pinched expression softened into a small smile, and she realised that she hadn't seen one from him in quite some time; in class, he was hyper-focused, and in their tutoring sessions, during their patrols, even when she'd glimpsed him in the Ravenclaw common room, he appeared strained.

"I'd like that," he said now, cautiously. "Perhaps after Flitwick's Independent Study class, on Friday?"

Once, she'd have needed to debate whether she should try to make her way to the pitch at that time for the tail end of Marcus' Quidditch practise; now, she realised with an odd little pang, there were no such expectations.

"That sounds perfect," she said, and then she set her father's copy of the book down on a study table; he set his next to hers, and then they split up, each taking a separate end of the library and ushering the remaining students out as curfew approached.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Talking to Draco had been just as fruitless as she'd expected; he still either believed she knew something about the Chamber, or elected to continue  _pretending_  to believe it, so that he could associate himself with it, by extension.

At least one of his friends, Gregory, had promised to stop saying 'Mudblood', though she thought she'd spied Draco elbowing him immediately after he'd agreed to it. She supposed it was a start.

She had been immeasurably relieved when she spoke to Amelia, and in addition to being sympathetic to her story about needing to essentially break up with Marcus all over again, her friend had reiterated what Gerald had said - that they all knew she couldn't possibly be behind the message on the wall, or the attack on Mrs. Norris.

"Though," Amelia had said, resentfully, "Not like much of anyone'd blame you, for offing that horrible wretched thing."

Calista had glossed over the last part of her conversation with Marcus, telling Amelia only about his accusations regarding Percy and Gerald, but leaving out what he had said about her family. There was no need, she reasoned, to remind her Muggle-born friend that her family tended to be prejudiced in precisely the way that Marcus had said. Her friends didn't believe she could be the Heir; she didn't want to give them a reason to change their minds.

Severus was now insisting that Calista eat breakfast and dinner with him every day that she didn't go to the Great Hall, which, since she was still very much interested in avoiding Marcus as much as possible, was nearly always. He often tried to skip out without eating breakfast himself, but she had perfected her reproachful glare, and was nearly always able to coax him into eating something.

Sometimes, at dinner time, they would have a brief legilimency lesson, but more often, they would simply talk, and she found that she had dearly missed the frequent, inconsequential conversations. She started not to mind being practically forced to eat, even though she seldom felt hungry, with the stress of endless homework and exam prep constantly haunting her, and with Draco's ongoing whispers among the other Slytherins that he knew the Heir  _very personally_.

It was during dinner with her father, when she'd been discussing her Charms research project, that a breakthrough of sorts occurred; he'd asked her how it was going, and she'd described where she was so far.

"I settled on Alohomora, as the first spell to try wandlessly," she said, "Even though it doesn't really fit the purpose of  _why_ I wanted to learn wandless magic in the first place, since it's not a defensive spell… but it's the spell I've found the most possibly related runes for, and it's also very easy - but so far, I'm not having any success."

Severus frowned. "Alohomora?" he asked, "Why aren't you using your Freezing Charm?"

Calista blinked. "I… hadn't thought of it."

"Well, I'd certainly suggest you start there. Yours is particularly strong, from what I've observed, and from what you've told me. It seems to me that if your goal is to consistently perform a spell wandlessly, that's the logical one to start with."

Calista grinned. "I can't believe that never occurred to me - Dad, you're brilliant."

Severus smirked; "Yes, I like to think so."

After lunch, Calista had made a special trip to the library, and with permission, down to her father's workroom, to begin again with the research process - albeit this time with a much clearer, and more logical, direction.

She began to feel hopeful about the project, for the first time since Gerald had offered to share the research with her; perhaps this year would be the year that she finally  _did_  manage what she'd been trying to since her first year.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Gerald liked the idea, too, when she met him on Friday afternoon to practise the Patronus Charm.

"Of course - it makes so much  _sense_ ," he said, "I do wonder why neither of us thought of it. Yours is  _quite_  strong. In fact, I -"

He paused. Calista tilted her head, eyeing him curiously.

"What?" she asked.

"I've been wondering," he said, "If you'd be able to freeze a  _person_  with it. Use it defensively."

She blinked. "You can't stop a person with a Freezing Charm," she said, "They only work on small animals - you'd need to use the Impediment Jinx for a human."

"Yes, that's generally true," he admitted, evenly, "But I've never seen anyone else's hold for anywhere near as long as yours does; I do think you should try it, sometime. I'd be curious how it goes."

"Yeah, maybe. How is your research coming?" she asked, "With trying to create a new spell?"

"Still in the research phase," he admitted, "Though I did settle on precisely what I'd like my first spell to accomplish."

"Well?" she prompted gently, when he didn't elaborate. "Are you going to share?"

"Oh - if you're interested -"

"Of course I am."

He ducked his head, and adjusted his glasses. "A modified Shield Charm," he said, looking up again. "I'd like it to  _absorb_  the impact rather than reflect it - did you know that there are hundreds of documented cases of bystanders being injured by a poorly directed Shield Charm?"

"No, I didn't know that." she tilted her head, and frowned thoughtfully. "If you're not reflecting the spell back, though," she said, "Wouldn't that eliminate the benefit of temporarily catching your opponent off-guard? Wouldn't they be able to simply fire spells at you in rapid succession until you finally mucked up the timing of your charm, or got tired?"

"Well, that's the other piece of it," Gerald said, a bit hesitantly. "I'd like - I'd like to modify it to last longer. Almost like an invisible, temporary piece of armour. That way, you would only need to engage it periodically. My hope is that it could be done in such a way that it won't need the caster to keep feeding power into it, like -"

He paused, and looked at her carefully.

"Usually, this is the point where most of my friends tune me out or ask me to shut it," he said, uncertainly, but Calista was leaning forward, with every appearance of listening intently.

"No, no, go on," she said, quickly.

"Well," Gerald continued, "My inspiration, to be perfectly frank, is the Patronus Charm. It requires a significant initial effort from the caster, but it can then sustain itself for a fairly extended period of time - depending, of course, on the skill of the caster. I'd like my Armour Charm to behave the same way."

"It sounds very difficult," Calista said at last, "But if you manage it - that would be quite an important discovery. I bet you could be on one of those Chocolate Frog cards my cousin collects, for something like that."

The corners of Gerald's mouth quirked, the beginning of a smile - but it faded again, nearly as quickly as she'd seen it. "You're not - you're not having me on, are you?" he asked, suspiciously.

"No," she said, looking at him directly, so that he could see her sincerity. "I'm not. I think it's a brilliant idea."

He looked quickly away, studying the cover of his Patronus book; but she caught a glimpse of a smile, once again, the second one she'd managed to coax from him recently. She suppressed one of her own, afraid he'd think she was teasing him.

"I suppose," he said, evenly, after a moment, "We should begin practising."

She nodded, and withdrew her wand from her pocket.

She watched his attempt first, since he had already been practising - he produced a thin, wispy cloud of silver, but there was no distinct shape.

She noted the wand movement he had used, and precisely the intonation of the incantation, and she lifted her wand, in her own attempt.

"Expecto Patronum," she said, reaching into her mind for something, anything that made her happy - she settled on a simmering cauldron on her father's workroom, he at her shoulder, offering a tip that wasn't in the recipe.

Precisely nothing happened.

Gerald's wispy cloud was growing brighter, larger, though it was still indistinct.

Encouraged by his progress, she focused, reaching for more memories in the vein of the first one - for the dozens of badly drawn cats he'd hung in his office when she was small, for the nights she'd sat across from his desk, soothed by the scratching of his quill across the parchment -

Nothing. She tried a half dozen more times, to the same end.

Calista felt her heart sink.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Severus stood over Calista's shoulder, watching carefully as she stirred the cauldron in precise, even strokes. Beneath the gently rolling boil of the infusion, the finely-chopped pieces of dittany began to leech their colour and their essence into the water.

"Perhaps another quarter hour at a boil," Severus said, "And then we can reduce the heat and add the fluxweed."

She nodded, keeping a careful watch so the mixture didn't begin to boil too rapidly, and also so the dittany didn't sink to the bottom and stick.

"Do we need to strain it first?" she asked, and Severus shook his head; she could see the motion from the corner of her eye.

"Not until after the fluxweed is added; I find that keeping the dittany in while the fluxweed infuses slightly increases the potency. It can reduce the pickling time of the salamander eyes by a day or two."

"I can't even begin to imagine how you figure things like that out," Calista ventured, letting a note of awe creep into her voice.

"I imagine the process is not so very different from your Charms research," he said, with an attempt at humility; she glanced up at him and saw a self-satisfied smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, and she bit back a grin. "Speaking of which, how is your Patronus Charm coming along?"

Her amusement faded instantly.

"It's not," she said, shortly, grimly.

"You've attempted it?"

She nodded, still watching the potion. "Gerald at least gets a silvery cloud, although you can't tell what it's meant to be. I, on the other hand, have produced absolutely nothing to date."

"It is a very difficult charm," Severus said, cautiously. "Perhaps more so than usual for - some people."

"Shall I add it to the list of things she's managed to ruin for me?" Calista asked, not quite able to keep an edge of bitterness from her voice.

"Have you finished that Sparkman book?" he asked, after a minute had passed.

"I'm on the last chapter."

"I think, perhaps, you will find it helpful to follow some of the techniques he lays out."

Calista sighed, heavily. "Techniques for… for 'trauma survivors'. So that's… that's what I am?"

Severus put a hand at her shoulder; she saw his jaw working.

"Yes," he said, heavily. "Among other things - it's  _part_ of who you are."

She noticed the distinction; it made her feel a little bit better.

"You're also," he reminded her, "A gifted Occlumens, and a rapidly improving Legilimens. Particularly adept with Charms. And - on occasion - remarkably, infuriatingly stubborn. I'm confident you will succeed, if you keep at it."

She allowed a small smile.

"Can you produce one, then?"

In answer, Severus lifted his hand from her shoulder, and drew his wand.

"Expecto Patronum," he said, softly; a magnificently beautiful, well-formed silver doe sprang from the end of his wand, and sailed around the upper perimeter of the room.

Calista blinked, taking her eyes off the cauldron to gaze up at the ethereal creature.

"A doe?" she asked, "That's not what I would have expected."

He dropped his eyes to hers, meeting them intently. She could tell, by the hardness in his face, that his jaw was clenched, and yet it still looked like he was going to say something - something terribly important. She was silent, hardly daring to breathe, because the moment felt suddenly, inexplicably grave.

At last, he opened his mouth.

"It's time to add the fluxweed," he said, turning away, just as the last glimmer of his Patronus faded.


	6. Chapter 6

The morning of the first Quidditch match of the year, the monthly Prefect meeting was cancelled; Calista would have been glad for it, but it only meant that she had Dueling lessons with her father instead, and even though she  _did_  want to learn, did see the merit, she still had qualms.

He wanted to teach her newer, darker spells, but she was still hesitant; he agreed they could hold off a few more lessons on trying new spells, and he acquiesced as well to her demands that he allow her to practise counter-curses and healing spells on him, as well - she hated seeing him in any sort of pain from the spells they practised, and even when he tried to hide it from her, she always seemed to sense it - she was so quick, in fact, to undo the spell, that he sometimes wasn't able to properly assess the strength of her initial cast. On the upside, he supposed it wasn't a bad thing that she was quickly becoming adept at many simple to moderate healing spells.

The downside was that she was still loathe to put any real effort into many of the curses and hexes they did practise, even after she'd promised to try; he knew she was holding back, and he couldn't always coax her not to. While he appreciated her reluctance to hurt him, and understood why she hesitated, he was truly beginning to fear that she would lose the progress she had already made if she kept on in this vein.

He had been patient, since the duel with Quirrell, had reasoned and even pleaded with her to apply herself to the lessons, and still - still, her efforts were no better than any first year's. And yet, it wasn't that she had any sort of diminished power - her achievements in legilimency were steadily mounting, and her healing spells were very effective; it was, truly, an issue with offensive spells only.

The morning of the Quidditch match, he resolved to make progress. They were practising, because she'd refused his first three suggestions, a stronger version of the knockback spell that she had used on Quirrell last year. She had managed to send the tatty old training dummy clattering down the length of the corridor, but - again - she was failing when asked to turn the spell on him.

Her first two attempts on him were laughably weak; the first barely had him stumbling back, and the second knocked him back perhaps two feet; he stumbled slightly, but righted himself quickly, utterly unharmed.

"Calista," he said, for what felt like the hundredth time, "You are  _wasting our time_. You're not trying at all."

"I don't want to hurt you," she said quietly, but he knew it was more than just that; moreover,  _she_ knew that he knew it.

"Try again," he commanded, already feeling a prick of regret for what he was about to do.

She exhaled, and lifted her wand again.

"Don't be afraid of the power," he reminded her, eyes flashing. " _Feel_  it - use it."

He could see her hesitating, still - then he had to do it, he had to resort to it...

"Make her sorry she gave it to you," he whispered -

" _Affligus Maximus!_ "

A powerful wave knocked him back, against the locked door at the end of the corridor; he gasped, and lost his footing, as the wind was utterly knocked out of him.

Immediately, she was crouched in front of him, trying to help him up - a terrible pain shot through his right wrist as she reached for it, and he yanked his arm back towards his body, resulting in a grimace of pain that he could not hide quickly enough.

He moved his mouth, trying to tell her something -

"Dad," she said, alarmed, and finally, he recovered his breath, with a wheezing gasp.

"Let go of my arm," he croaked, "It's broken. My wrist cracked against the doorknob - "

Horror flashed across her features, but she reached for his sleeve, carefully, this time, and unbuttoned it, pushing it gently back. His wrist was swelling rapidly, and he held it at an odd angle.

She tapped her wand lightly to his wrist. " _Ferula_."

The wrist was instantly splinted and bound; his expression eased, as the pain faded away to a manageable level.

"I'm sorry -" she began.

"No," he told her, for what again felt like the hundredth time, "That's what I want you to do."

She frowned, and searched his face, sadness pulling at the corners of her mouth.

"Why did you have to say that?" she murmured.

"Because -" he said, bracing his good hand against her shoulder, and lifting himself up, "I knew it would work."

"I hate thinking of it like that - like all the horrible things she did are the reason I'm good at curses."

"Then," Severus said, quietly, "Remember this - she  _doesn't_  want you to be good at them."

"Yes, she does - she thinks I'll join the Dark Lord, if he returns. She said it herself."

"Yes, well - the flaw in her plan - is that you won't."

"I still don't think -"

"Trust me on this, Calista," he said, pulling the hem of his sleeve back down over the binding, "She doesn't want you to be powerful if you're not on her side."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Slytherin lost the Quidditch match - which, depending on who you asked - was for one of two reasons. Everyone but Draco said it was because of the new Seeker's failure to catch the Snitch - the Chasers had been racking up points and Draco had failed to do his part. Draco, on the other hand, had decided to blame his cousin, for supposedly ruining the Team Captain's focus, and resulting in faulty leadership.

"Couldn't you have waited until  _after_ the Quidditch match to break his heart?" Draco whined, several times, until she threatened to give him a detention with her father if he didn't shut up. She was glad, in the afternoon, to be able to take respite in her extra lessons, and doubly so because she shared them with Gerald, who could always be depended upon not to so much as mention the word 'Quidditch'.

Instead, they discussed Lockhart, of all things, while they worked in companionable peace; Severus had procured an Alchemist's Hellebore, a species of plant that responded to poisons and was often used in the first stage of testing new antidotes, and Gerald and Calista worked on a new set of potions each week, switching off which of them would make the poison, and which would craft the antidote, using the little potted plant to test their creations.

"I never thought I'd argue so much with a professor," Gerald was saying, as he methodically ground dittany in a stone bowl, releasing a pleasing, minty aroma. "And I've never, in all of my years at Hogwarts, refused an assignment, but this last one - he wants us to write a ballad about his  _hair_."

Calista laughed, slipping on a pair of dragonhide gloves, and opening a small glass jar of death cap mushrooms. "He asked  _us_ to write a poem about him defeating a banshee by singing - maybe he's planning to defeat the next one using your ballad."

"Did you write the poem?" Gerald asked curiously, picking up a wooden spoon and scraping the dittany paste into his cauldron. He added a small amount of water, and mixed it thoroughly before lighting the flame beneath it.

"Of course not. I wrote an essay about Inferi."

Gerald's face spread into a slow smirk. "That's brilliant, you can't get in trouble for writing an essay, even if it's not what he asked for. What did you get for a grade?"

"Oh," she said, carefully removing the stems of the mushrooms and resealing them in a clean jar, "I didn't, actually - he just turned it back to me with an autograph in the corner."

Now it was Gerald's turn to laugh. "No - he can't really have done that. You're having me on."

"I wish I was," she said ruefully, gently dropping the caps of the mushrooms into her simmering cauldron. "Not least of all because someone stole it."

"Don't tell me," he said, "That all of the girls in your class are as bad as the ones in mine…"

Calista rolled her eyes, and fluttered her eyelashes in an imitation of Olivia. "Oh, Professor Lockhart - you're just so brilliant, I've read  _all_  your books,"

"Yes, well, since they're all required reading -"

"And written at the vocabulary level of a nine-year-old -"

"I suppose it isn't too difficult," they finished together.

"I am surprised, though," Calista said, "That there are so many people in the sixth year class. I suppose people signed up because he's famous, but - there are some people in my class that I would have bet my cauldron wouldn't have scored high enough to continue to the N.E.W.T. level."

"Well, that's because they probably didn't," Gerald said grimly, carefully plucking a single mistletoe berry from a vial, and dropping it into his cauldron; he picked up a wooden spoon, and began stirring, watching his mixture carefully as he spoke. "Didn't you hear? Lockhart let everyone continue on that passed their O.W.L. exams, even by just a single point."

"He  _did_?"

Gerald nodded. "It doesn't affect my year of course, because everyone who only got an 'A' already dropped out last year - but your year…" He sighed. "It's quite irresponsible of him, seeing as many of them likely won't pass the N.E.W.T. exams - they're extraordinarily difficult, and I hate to think of people wasting their time for two years."

"Right," Calista said, reaching two fingers into a jar of rat's eyes; one got squashed between her finger and the edge of the jar, and she grimaced. "Because they certainly won't learn anything useful as long as he's teaching the class."

"Disgusting, isn't it?" Gerald asked, and Calista nodded.

"Probably after increased book sales, I expect."

"Huh - oh, I meant the eyeball," he said, nodding sympathetically towards the jar she held, as she tried to carefully extract the one she'd ruined. "I'll never get used to having to touch them, no matter how many potions I make."

"Oh, I'm used to it," she said, "I spent nearly every weekend of my first year sorting my dad's shipments - but it is still disgusting, yes."

"I'm surprised he had you do that," Gerald leaned over his cauldron, sniffing. He peered inside, and nodded, satisfied with either the smell, or the colour, or both. "I always thought he reserved that sort of thing for detentions."

"He does," she said, stuffing her knotgrass into a mesh bag and hanging it carefully over the lip of her cauldron, so it was just barely submerged in the mixture. "That's why I had to do it so many times."

" _You_?" Gerald said, disbelieving, "I mean, I can see you getting one or two, for whatever was going on with you and that awful Avril girl, but every weekend?"

"Oh, yes," she said, "You're right, though - almost all of them had to do with her, or with Portia. I had… an unfortunate habit of hexing, or threatening to hex people, back then."

"I had a lot of detentions too, my first couple of years," Gerald admitted. "For… pretty much the same reason. Although, in my case - it was Shield Charms… I always got blamed for casting the original spells."

"Couldn't you tell a professor what was really happening?"

"I tried," Gerald said, "But when it happened - it was always just me, against two or three Sl- erm, people. Their word against mine. Eventually, I just gave up fighting back. And you know, there's no Shield Charm for someone punching you."

"You were going to say Slytherins," Calista said quietly. Gerald shrugged, looking suddenly uncomfortable.

"I'm s-" she started to say, but Gerald interrupted her, suddenly businesslike. "I think your knotgrass is finished steeping."

It was; she lifted the mesh bag out, and discarded the soggy knotgrass out of it. Both of them were at a place now where their cauldrons needed to be left at a simmer, and only checked or stirred periodically. Calista leaned against the end of the table next to the one where their cauldrons were set up, where she could still keep an eye on hers, and Gerald started to clean up his ingredients; Calista had been packing hers up all along, as she went, so her side of the table was clear.

"Perhaps the detentions shouldn't be so surprising. Percy did tell me you could be quite - ah, fierce - when you were both younger," Gerald ventured, after a few moments of silence had passed. Calista smirked, pushing off from the edge of the table and crossing the three or four paces between them to help him put his things away. He paused, and swallowed audibly when she approached; she glanced up, questioningly, but his face was impassive. She saw his shoulders relax - or maybe he just exhaled - and he slowly returned to wrapping his remaining sprigs of dittany.

"That might be true," she admitted, presently, "But  _Percy_ could be quite stuffy back then."

"Back then?" Gerald said, with a short, weak laugh. "Isn't he still?"

"Well," Calista said, tightly screwing the cover back onto a jar of powdered asphodel root, and holding it out to him, "I suppose when you get right down to it, neither Percy nor I have changed  _that_  much."

Gerald took the jar from her, carefully and delicately, as if it were a living thing. "I don't really think that's true," he said.

She stepped back, and checked her cauldron, picking up her wooden spoon and giving it three quick stirs, and then she returned to her spot, leaning against the edge of the next table.

"Don't you?" she asked, quietly. "I wasn't - I wasn't particularly kind to you, at first."

"Maybe not," Gerald said, "But, you know - you weren't really particularly fierce, either."

"I'm sorry," she said again, looking down at the floor, and this time he didn't interrupt. "I'm sorry that I didn't believe you at first, about - about Marcus bullying you."

He was quiet; she glanced up, wondering if he had heard her. He was watching her intently, but when she met his gaze, he stood up, and went to stir his cauldron.

"Thank you," he said, at last, leaning over his potion, and stirring. When he looked up again, his expression was so perfectly normal that she wondered if she'd imagined the intensity of his gaze a moment before - but it was possible she hadn't. After all… she imagined how she might feel, if she were in his place, and they were talking about Olivia's treatment of her in years past. She supposed it might mean a good deal to him to finally be believed.

"My potion is nearly done," he said. She rose to check hers as well, though she knew it would need at least another ten minutes at a simmer.

"Yours will be done a few minutes ahead of mine," she said, "And then mine needs to cool - the poison is temperature sensitive, even though the antidote's not. I guess I should have started earlier."

Gerald shrugged. "That's all right. I've never minded waiting."

After a few moments, his potion was ready to be bottled. He cleaned out his cauldron while she continued to stir hers, and then he bottled his while she poured hers into a wide-mouthed flask to cool. They chatted while they waited, about the Arithmancy homework, and the books they'd each been reading lately.

Just when Calista judged her potion was cool enough to test, they heard the classroom door open. She glanced over her shoulder.

"Hi, Dad. We're just about to test our potions, if you'd like to see."

Severus crossed the classroom, and lifted the closest vessel, inspecting the potion through the sides of the glass flask, and then sniffing it.

"A deathcap draught," he said, "Which of you brewed this?"

"Me," Calista said, and Severus smirked.

"Of course you did. I can't believe I had to ask."

"Are you saying that because it's correct, or because it's a poison?"

He set her flask down and picked up Gerald's stoppered bottle, uncorking it and inspecting it in the same fashion.

"To the best of my judgement, both potions appear to have been brewed correctly," Severus said, "But of course, there's only one way to tell for certain."

"Well, that answers my question," Calista muttered; she thought she saw a brief flicker of amusement on Gerald's face. She pulled the potted hellebore closer, and used a dropper to release a drop of her poison on the plant.

The plant shriveled and turned black; Gerald measured a small amount of his antidote onto a tiny spoon, and then sprinkled it over the plant, which almost immediately sprang back to life, looking as if nothing at all had happened to it.

Severus nodded, satisfied. "That's seven weeks, I believe, since I provided that plant for testing, and the pair of you haven't managed to permanently kill it yet; I do believe that's a new school record."

Calista smiled, and glanced at Gerald, but he was restoppering his bottle, and she couldn't make out his expression. When he had finished, he held it out towards Severus, who plucked it neatly from the boy's hand.

"Thank you, Mr. Boot. Calista, why don't you bottle yours as well this time?"

"Really?" she wondered, bottling it and handing it over. "You never have us keep the poisons."

"Yes, well," Severus smirked, a bit nastily. "I see merit in having a few extra doses of poison handy, in case any  _Quidditch-playing ex-boyfriends_  elect to cause trouble."

She blinked, jaw dropping; she wasn't at all surprised that he had said such a thing, but she was surprised that he had said it in front of Gerald.

Severus took both bottles, and swept out of the classroom; she distantly heard his office door shut.

"I'm sorry," she said, "I hope he didn't scare you - he thinks he's funny."

To her surprise, Gerald didn't look concerned at all; he was actually  _laughing_.

"It is funny, to me." he said, "After all,  _I_ know how to make the antidote. And I'm not -"

He stopped, and looked away, under cover of packing his tools in his schoolbag. She could still see the ghost of a smile on his features. "I don't play Quidditch."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Calista considered skipping dinner entirely, because she was cross with her father, but when she realised the alternative was going to the Great Hall and sitting at the same table as Marcus, she supposed she had no choice but to return to her father's quarters, since he was still insisting on seeing her eat, in one place or the other.

She brought the Patronus book to the table, re-reading the final chapter, the one that referred to using Occlumency or Legilimency to aid in producing a patronus, and made a point of ignoring him to read; she ate just enough that he couldn't fault her for not doing so, and then made to leave, gathering the book and rising from the table without having yet said a word to him.

"You're cross with me," he said, quietly, as she rose.

She flicked her gaze up, and fixed him with a reproachful glare - the same one she often used to make sure he, too, remembered to eat.

"Oh, very well done," she said, "I can see where I get my reasoning skills from."

"Why?" he asked, calmly, letting her barb slip.

"That's the same question I'll pose to you," she said, clutching the book to her chest as if it were a shield. "Why? Why did you say what you did in front of Gerald? If you were trying to scare him for some reason - which I can't seem to find a motivation for - it didn't work. He thought it was funny. And if you were trying to embarrass me - well, congratulations, you managed that splendidly."

Severus was still remarkably calm. "Mr. Boot was amused?" he asked.

"Yes. He said he knows how to make the antidote."

Her father smirked. "Excellent. My comment fulfilled its intended purpose, then."

She scowled. "What? Embarrassing me?"

"Why don't you ask your friend," he said, instead of answering her question, "What's been going on between him and Flint since the two of you ended things?"

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

When Calista entered the Slytherin common room on Sunday morning, it was positively abuzz with excited chatter. She frowned; they had  _lost_  the Quidditch match, hadn't they? Why did so many of them seem to be in such a good mood?

A few, she noticed, looked subdued, Daisy Spratt among them. The third-year girl was sitting at a study table by herself, wringing her hands and looking as if someone had punched her in the gut. Calista slipped into the chair across from her.

"Daisy? Are you all right?"

Daisy looked up fearfully. "Have you heard - have you heard about what happened to the Gryffindor boy?"

Calista shook her head, but there was something in Daisy's woeful expression, juxtaposed with the cheerful chatter around them - this couldn't possibly be good news. She felt her stomach knot up pre-emptively.

"They're saying a first year Gryffindor boy was attacked, just like - just like Mrs. Norris."

"He was Petrified?"

Daisy nodded, eyes round. "Or… or dead, depending on the rumour you believe," she whispered, so that Calista barely heard her.

"Who is he?"

Daisy shrugged. "I don't know his name. The Muggle-born boy who lugs that camera around. He's in the hospital wing now, and everyone - everyone's saying there will be more attacks…"

A Muggle-born; then that meant - could the rumours be true, despite her father's reassurances? She felt her heart pound. She had to get to Ravenclaw Tower, and make sure that Amelia and Penny were all right… but first…

She took in Daisy's pinched, fearful expression, the glimmer that told her the younger girl was seconds away from tears. She leaned over the table, and met Daisy's gaze, trying to look as reassuring as possible, despite the panic that was pounding, at the moment, in her own ribcage.

"You'll be fine, Daisy," she said, "Nothing will attack you. Stick with your friends in the corridors, or with the Prefects, and just be aware of your surroundings."

"What if I'm not fine?" she whispered.

"You will be," Calista said, trying and failing to summon an encouraging smile.

Daisy frowned, and slipped off her chair. "Calista…"

She stepped next to Calista, and put her hand up to her mouth, gesturing for Calista to lean close; when Calista acquiesced, Daisy cupped her hand close to, but not touching Calista's ear. Calista could sense the smaller girl trembling.

" _Calista, I'm Muggle-born_ ," she whispered. Calista's eyes widened.

"Please don't tell anyone," Daisy begged, letting her hand fall, but still speaking close to Calista's ear.

Calista turned her face to look directly at Daisy again; she pushed aside the vague discomfort she had at being so close to someone that she wasn't entirely used to, and inclined her head, so no one would overhear what she said. "I'll walk you to your classes from now on," she said, quietly. "Will that make you feel better?"

Daisy nodded, looking at least somewhat relieved.

"Good. Daisy, I need to go right now - don't leave the common room until I come back, all right?"

Daisy nodded again.

"Oh - and don't worry. I'm  _very good_  at keeping secrets."

The younger girl managed a weak, watery smile.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Calista stood before the heavy, imposing door to Ravenclaw Tower for the second time. The eagle knocker wasn't any more cooperative or understanding this time around than it had been the first time.

"Please just let me see if my friends are okay," she said, to the knocker.

"Name that which can live only where there is light, yet perishes when touched by it."

She sighed. "Very well… let's see... oh, that's an easy one. A shadow."

The door swing inwards, granting her access.

There - they were both there, at a study table, with a chessboard between them.

"Amelia! Penny!" Calista said, hurrying over to them. Amelia grinned, but Penny's jaw dropped. "You're all right," Calista added, relieved.

"Of course we are - why wouldn't we be?" Penny frowned. "And how did you get into our common room?"

Amelia grinned, slyly moving one of Penny's chess pieces while her friend was distracted. "She solved the riddle, obviously. She did it before, too - ask Gerald if you don't believe me."

"Well, of course I  _believe_  you," Penny said, still looking concerned; Gerald must have heard his name, because he rose from an armchair by the fireplace, an open book cradled carefully in both hands. It was a massive, heavy-looking volume; Calista wondered if it was the one she'd given him for his birthday. "But you're not supposed to be here."

Penny looked over to Gerald for confirmation; Gerald inclined his head, a bit sheepishly.

"Actually," he said, "I did a bit of research, after she got in the last time. As long as she solved the riddle, there's nothing in the school rules that expressly says she can't be here."

"Who cares about that?" Calista said, impatiently. "I just found out there's been an attack. A first year was Petrified in the middle of the night."

Gerald closed the book, tucking it under his arm; it  _was_  the one she'd given him. He walked quickly to the study table, stopping an arm's length away from where Calista leaned over the forgotten chess game. Amelia and Penny wore the same wide-eyed, uncertain expression.

"The same as Mrs. Norris?" Amelia asked, just as Penny said, "It was a Muggle-born, wasn't it?"

Calista nodded, unhappily, confirming the answer to both questions.

"We've got to speak with the professors," Gerald said, at once, "And come up with a plan to prevent further attacks."

Penny nodded, jumping to her feet. "All of the Prefects should get involved."

"I'm calling an emergency meeting," Gerald said, "In the library, at one o'clock. Calista, can you let Endria and the Slytherin Prefects know?"

Calista nodded, again.

"Who's going to tell the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors?" Penny wondered.

"I will," Gerald said, "The Head Boy and Girl know where all the common rooms are."

"I'm coming too," Amelia said, at once. "I'm not just going to be a sitting target."

No one argued with her.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Albus Dumbledore stood behind his desk, watching the younger man pacing on the other side of it. It was unusual for him to remain standing; even more unusual for him to let his worry show in the lines of his old face.

"I need your help, Severus," Albus said, "I believe Hogwarts may be on the brink of a terrible tragedy if we do not solve the mystery of the Chamber of Secrets quickly."

"Why  _my_  help?" Severus snarled, "Why do you assume a Slytherin is behind the attack? It wouldn't be the first time one of my House was framed -"

"I believe the master of the Chamber is indeed a Slytherin," Dumbledore said, evenly, "But perhaps not a student."

"What,  _precisely_ , are you trying to imply?" Severus asked, silkily. His tone, his look, were dangerous; only a madman would proceed.

"The Chamber of Secrets has been opened before, Severus. I suspected, at the time, that the wrong person had been apprehended and charged with the crime. Now, I am certain of it."

"It was opened before I was ever a student," Severus said, "Before any of my students'  _parents_  were even born; how can the culprit possibly be a resident of my House?"

"Well, that's precisely what I hope you can help me find out," the older man said, gravely. "Since you are well-acquainted with the person whom I believe opened the Chamber the first time."

Severus' eyes narrowed. " _Who?_ "

"A clever young Slytherin student," Albus said, "By the name of Tom Riddle."

Severus blanched; his hands started to tremble, and he shoved them in the pockets of his robes.

"Potter," Severus said, darkly.

"I assure you, Severus, Harry Potter is not the one opening the Chamber -"

"I want that boy expelled at once," Severus hissed. " _He has something to do with this_."

"You are blinded by your prejudice, Severus."

"No," he said, "Two years, Albus, that boy has been at this school, and two years, Voldemort has somehow infiltrated the castle. I will not let you put the students - and  _especially not my daughter_ \- at risk, again."

"Calista is not Muggle-born, Severus; she's at a very low risk for attack -"

" _She's already been attacked!_ "he roared, "You refused to acknowledge the truth of the situation at the time - I won't let your - your  _blindness_  put her in danger, again! I won't!"

"Indulge me, Severus - would you cast your Patronus charm for me?"

Severus snarled, but waved his wand; a silver doe sailed around the office.

"So - you are telling me that you are prepared to break your oath, Severus - not only to me, but to Lily Evans?"

Severus seethed; he felt his blood threaten to boil within his veins. In that instant, he hated Albus Dumbledore possibly more than he had ever hated anyone in his life.

"I have made other oaths, Albus."

He gathered a memory, pushed it to the forefront of his mind, and gestured towards himself. "Cast legilimens on me," he insisted, "Go on - I want you to see this - I want you to understand, what it is you are asking me to do - the promise you're asking me to break."

Dumbledore acquiesced, lifting his wand.

" _Legilimens._ "

A memory replayed; beyond it, Severus' barriers were formidable, impenetrable; not a single thing slipped through, except for what he wanted the old man to see.

_A small, skinny girl with shadowed eyes cowers, scratching and clawing at herself in an effort to remove an imaginary knife from her back. Severus reaches for her hands; there's blood under her fingernails, and he has to cover them quickly with his own hands before she sees it and gets even more of a fright._

_She struggles, trying to pull her hands away, but she's not strong enough. She's shaking like a leaf, and her breath is coming in gasps now; he's afraid she might hyperventilate._

' _Calista,' he tells her softly, as he has a hundred times and as he will a hundred more, 'You're safe. It's not real.'_

' _It's real,' she whispers, 'Please make it stop. Make_ her _stop.'_

_He wraps his arms around the little girl; she's like a tiny, trembling bird. He can feel her heart racing, and her terror bleeds out of her own mind and into his own; he wonders if this is how she felt, how she sounded, every single one of the countless times that Bellatrix was hurting her. He wonders how many times she has cried for help, only to have no one come, and he thinks he might be able to feel his heart breaking for her._

' _You're safe,' he tells her, again. 'She's not here. She can't hurt you. She can never hurt you again.'_

_Gradually, reality seems to seep in for her; her breathing hitches, and then normalises. She still trembles, but she's stopped fighting him. Instead, she sinks against his shoulder, and he feels the fabric of his robes growing damp with tears._

' _What if she comes -'_

' _She won't.'_

' _But what if she does -'_

' _Then I will protect you,' he told her, quietly. 'I will always protect you. I promise.'_

Dumbledore lowered his wand; his expression was terribly sad, and he suddenly wore every single one of his years as heavily as if they were iron chains.

"Severus…"

"I can't protect the boy," Severus whispered. "I can't do it anymore - not when it puts Calista at risk."

"If we don't protect the boy," Dumbledore said quietly, "Then we can't protect anyone else. Lord Voldemort will return, Severus, if we don't stop him. And - I suspect that Bellatrix will return with him."

"No," Severus said, voice achingly raw. "Don't do this to me, Albus."

"I'm very sympathetic to your situation, Severus," Dumbledore said, "But we both know that it is partially of your own making. Help me stop Lord Voldemort from returning to power, and you might just be able to keep  _all_  of your promises."

Severus swallowed, and made a small sound in the back of his throat. Then, abruptly, he turned on his heel to leave.

"I must admit, Severus," Dumbledore called after him, "I'm surprised - given what you've just shared with me - that your Patronus hasn't changed forms."

Severus paused, and turned his head; but he kept his gaze on the floor, didn't meet the older man's gaze.

"All of it - everything she has suffered - is because  _I_  failed to save her soon enough," he said, wretchedly. "How can I possibly conjure happiness out of that?"


	7. Chapter 7

"I managed to speak with Professor Flitwick and Professor McGonagall," Gerald said, "They both want us to remain vigilant on patrols, and to try our best to keep the younger students calm. They said the teachers are all investigating the attacks, and that our assistance is not needed beyond what I've already said. I'm not certain I agree that we should be so hands-off; the attacks need to be stopped before they go any further."

There was a murmur of conversation among the Prefects. With the exception of Calista, who was standing with Penny, Percy, and Amelia, and Endria who was at the front of the room next to Gerald, the Slytherins were in a separate little knot at the edge of the crowd.

"Who says we would even  _want_  to stop the attacks?" someone murmured from the green-clad cluster.

" _I_  say it, Logan," Endria snapped, "Unless you want me to speak to Professor Snape, and have that Prefect badge revoked? Be a bit hard to sneak your girlfriend into the Prefects' bathroom if you can't go there yourself, won't it?"

Derek flushed, and muttered something under his breath.

"That better be an apology you're whispering," Endria said, narrowing her eyes at him dangerously, "Or it's going to need to be a prayer."

Amelia nudged Calista, and grinned.

Gerald waited until the titters and chatter had died down to continue.

"We haven't spoken to Professor Snape or Professor Sprout yet; they may want us to contribute in some other way, and Endria and I will communicate that to you all.

"Why does there even need to be an investigation?" a seventh-year Gryffindor girl asked, "Why not just throw all of the Slytherins out of the school?"

Endria glared daggers at the girl, but it was Gerald who answered first.

"We do not know for a fact that the attacks are coming from anyone in Slytherin House," he said, evenly. "We don't even know if a student is behind them. At this point, we are only advising general vigilance. Please do not single out any particular students - or House - for any sort of ill treatment. The best way we'll solve this is by all working together, and sharing what we know."

"Well, then why don't the Slytherins share what  _they_  know?" the same Gryffindor said, "They're obviously hiding something -"

"The latest attack is not yet common knowledge throughout the school," he continued, firmly, while Endria hissed softly beside him. "We only know what we do so far because of information that was discovered this morning by one of our Slytherin Prefects; I assure you that the goal for  _all_  of us, in every House, is to stop the attacks."

"Yes," Endria cut in, "And any suggestions to the contrary will  _not_ be tolerated. We're also asking for volunteers, to add extra patrols at the weekends, since that's when both of the attacks occurred. Anyone willing to cover their regular routes on Saturday or Sunday evenings?"

Most of the hands in the room shot up. Endria nodded, satisfied. "Gerry's got sign-up sheets," she said, "We'll come around with them around now. We're looking for coverage between dinnertime and midnight on both Saturday and Sunday evenings, if we can get the Headmaster to sign off on extending the Prefect curfew; otherwise, it will be until eleven, like your regular night patrols."

They each took a sheet, and started at either end of the group; Endria started with the little cluster of three Slytherins, and Gerald started with a group of Hufflepuffs at the other side.

When Gerald reached Calista with the sign up sheets, he managed to give her a small, weary smile. "You and I, again?" he asked, holding out a quill.

She hesitated, thinking of Daisy's confession. "Yes," she said, "But I should cover my other route too, I think, in the dungeon corridors. Maybe I can do that on Saturdays, and the library on Sundays."

Gerald frowned. "Who's on that patrol with you?"

"No one. It's normally Thursday afternoon, and it's just me. Unless there's someone else who covers it at night?"

"I'll check the records again," Gerald said, "But I don't think so - usually, the night patrols near the common rooms are covered by the House ghosts."

Calista winced, and blanched slightly. She'd forgotten about that; she didn't relish any more nighttime encounters with the Bloody Baron. Still… if  _she_  didn't look out for Daisy, and any other Muggle-borns that were hiding in plain sight in Slytherin, who would?

"Well, then," she said, with more confidence than she felt, "I guess it'll be me and the Baron-"

"Gerry, hurry up, I want to sign so I get back to my homework," a fifth-year Ravenclaw said, and Gerald turned to offer him the quill.

Beside her, Amelia was arguing with Endria over the sign-up sheet.

"I don't care if I'm not a Prefect - I'm not going to just sit and play with myself while someone's out there killing students," Amelia growled.

Endria bit her lip, and smiled slyly. "No one's saying that's how you have to fill your time," she said, "But rules are rules - you can't patrol if you're not a Prefect. You don't have the extended curfew."

"Well, you're the Head Girl," Amelia said, "You could give it to me."

"Afraid not," Endria said, plucking the quill from Amelia's fingers. Her sly smile lingered when she added, "Even though I'd kind of like to. Sorry, Ophelia."

" _Amelia,_ " her friend corrected, indignant.

Endria's dark eyes flashed, as she turned away, holding the quill out to the next person. "Amelia. I'll remember next time."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

"I talked to Professor Sprout," Gerald said, later that evening, when Calista rejoined him in the library for their newly-volunteered for weekend patrol. "She just referred me back to Professor Flitwick, so that's not very helpful. Did either you or Endria manage to talk to your father?"

She shook her head, and frowned. "No, I haven't seen him today. He wasn't in his quarters when I went at dinner time - which is odd, because he always -"

Gerald eyed her curiously. "He always what?"

"Well, we always eat dinner together. Lately."

The library was utterly deserted; but Mondays were usually full schedule days for most students, so perhaps it wasn't terribly unusual for them to head back to their common rooms early on a Sunday evening.

"Oh. That explains why I never see you in the Great Hall anymore. I do see Professor Snape sometimes, though. There's no one in here; shall we loop through the corridors?"

She nodded, and followed him out of the library, and down their usual patrol route.

"I think he goes up to the Great Hall sometimes after he -" she felt her cheeks grow a little pink. "After he makes sure I eat something," she said, "My dad, I mean. He thinks that I erm - tend to forget."

"Do you?"

"No. I don't know. Maybe."

"Well," Gerald said, "It's nice that he cares about things like that, don't you think? I wish my -"

He stopped himself, and shook his head slightly, but Calista didn't notice; her mind had already moved on to something else.

"I guess. Gerald…?"

"Yes?"

"My dad said I should ask you what's been going on between - between you and Marcus."

Gerald's pace quickened; she could see his shoulders stiffen.

"It's nothing, Calista. Don't worry about it."

She hurried forward several paces, catching up to him. "He's not still giving you a hard time, is he?"

"It's fine," he said, "I mean - it's not fine, really, but… I've been giving him detentions for the worst of it."

"With his Head of House," Calista said, slowly; she felt a spark of something in her chest, something hard and angry.

"Yeah. I didn't want to keep taking House points. Doesn't seem fair to the rest of you."

"What's he doing, Gerald?"

"It's nothing," he said again, and sighed.

"It's definitely something," she said, "My dad - my dad practically offered to  _poison_ him for you. My dad has never offered to poison someone for anyone but me."

"You said yourself that he was kidding, Calista. I think he… I think he just wanted me to know that  _he_ knows I'm not giving Flint detentions for no reason. Flint's been… well, he's been trying to have me removed as Head Boy, saying I'm persecuting him without a reason."

"So," she said, fuming. "He's still a liar, then."

"Look, Calista," he said, "I don't want you to worry about it. Amelia… Amelia told me that you finally broke things off with him partly because of how he is to me, and I know that's why you're worried about it now, but I promise it's nothing to do with you - he's been this way all along. I have less than a year left, and then I'm out of school and I'll never have to see him again. I don't want you getting into any trouble over it."

They started walking again, back towards the library. Calista trailed slightly behind.

"I'm surprised you still wanted to be my friend," she said, "Considering I just ignored all of the horrible things he was doing to you…"

They reached the doorway of the library. Gerald glanced back at her. He was watching her again, with that expression - like she was a riddle he could solve, or the index page of a very intriguing book. He opened his mouth. "I still wanted to be your friend because…"

He stopped, and swallowed; she tried to read his expression, but it was difficult.

"Because you're not him," he finished, and Calista had the distinct impression that this wasn't what he had originally been going to say. "And you didn't know."

There was a sound, suddenly, of books falling from within the library. They both dashed inside, drawing their wands.

"Bethany," Gerald admonished, as a familiar-looking fourth-year tried her best to look innocent while surrounded by a pile of spell books. "Pick those up, please. And then you should be getting to the common room. It's nearly -" he checked a watch at his wrist, and then frowned. "No, it  _is_  nine o'clock. Come on, then, I'll walk you back to the common room so no one else pulls you up on being out past curfew."

"Oh - but the books," Bethany said, sweetly. "I'll just pick them up, and then head right to bed. You don't have to wait for me."

Gerald and Calista each raised a brow.

"Tell you what," Calista said, " _I'll_  clean up the books - you go with Gerald."

The girl frowned, but evidently realised she didn't have a choice. Reluctantly, she stuffed her wand into her pocket, and followed Gerald out of the library.

Calista bent over to pick up the fallen books, studying the covers as she did so.

"Potions books," she murmured. "What in Merlin's name is that girl up to?"

She opened each book, and flipped through the index, checking the list of potions in each one. A few books contained mild poisons, but nothing terribly dangerous or illicit that she could see; most of them were pretty basic, in fact - nothing but minor restorative brews and low-level love potions. She shrugged, and gravitated towards the back of the library, where the Restricted section was.

Since she was a N.E.W.T. level student, she didn't need a pass to go in - but she had already been through the entire section numerous times since becoming one, and had concluded that most of the interesting books that were in there were already at her disposal, through her father's extensive collection.

But still… she hadn't thought to look for anything about the Chamber of Secrets. Maybe she'd missed something that might be helpful -

"Calista, what are you doing here?"

She whirled around, to see her father, walking quickly towards her down the nearest aisle, between two tall stacks of shelves.

"Dad," she said, relieved to see him. "Where were you at dinner? I wanted to ask you about -"

"I asked you first," he said, quietly; and now she could see that something was wrong. His eyes were deliberately blank, his jaw stiff. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm patrolling," she said, "We had an emergency Prefect meeting today because of the attack, and we're all volunteering for weekend patrols."

"No, you're not," Severus said. Behind him, she saw Gerald re-entering the library; when he caught sight of the Professor, he opened his mouth -

"Yes, we are," Calista said, puzzled. "We had sign up sheets today, we're covering our regular routes on extra hours."

Gerald closed his mouth, and frowned; he wavered, looking like he was trying to determine whether or not he should interrupt, or announce his presence.

"No," Severus said again, forcefully. " _You're_  not. I'm - Calista, I'm pulling you off of all of your patrols. I want you in the common room after dinner and between classes - or, better yet, in my office."

" _What?_ " she said, jaw dropping. " _Why?_  I haven't done anything wrong!"

"I never said you did. Students are being attacked; I'm doing this for your protection -"

"I don't understand - you said this was - you said whatever's happening, it's not really the Chamber, anyway -"

"Yes," he said, "And I was wrong. The Chamber has been opened, Calista - "

"Then you  _can't_  take me off patrols."

"I can do whatever I want," he growled. "Don't tell me -"

"No," she insisted, stepping forward, and meeting his gaze directly. "You can't. If someone's really hunting Muggle-borns, then  _I'm_  not a target - but some of my friends  _are_. You can't ask me to just hide in the common room!"

"Or my office," Severus interjected, almost piteously. "Calista, the Dark Lord -"

"Dad!" she said, loudly, cutting him off. "Gerald… Gerald signed up for the same patrols as me - you can ask him yourself, he just came in - I won't be alone."

Severus' eyes widened briefly, and then narrowed; he whirled to face Gerald, who, miraculously, looked like he hadn't heard the last thing Severus had said.

"It's true, sir," Gerald said, steadily. "I'm on all the same evening patrols as Calista, except for the dungeon corridors - but I can switch my Entrance Hall route with someone, if you'd rather she not patrol alone. In fact - I think perhaps we should adjust  _all_  of the Prefect routes to be done in pairs, considering the current situation."

Severus jaw tightened. "Be that as it may, Mr. Boot - I'm sure you understand, the safety of my daughter is of utmost concern to me-"

"Of course it is, Professor. That's why I offered to switch my own route, instead of matching her with one of the other Prefects. I got the highest Defence O.W.L. score in my year, and I know you're aware of how good my Shield Charm is, since you gave me detention for it in my first year."

"Excuse me," Calista said, with a slight scowl. "I  _also_  got an 'O' in Defence, and I've already won a duel against a -"

"Calista," Severus cut in swiftly, warningly;

"Full grown wizard," she finished, lifting her chin stubbornly.

Severus narrowed his eyes, and cut a penetrating look between the two teenagers.

"Mr. Boot, kindly accompany Calista to my office promptly at the conclusion of this patrol; Calista, we'll discuss this later. And neither of you are, under any circumstances, to repeat to other students anything you may have heard me, or any other professor, say in regards to the Chamber of Secrets."

"You're not taking me off patrols," Calista said, with finality.

" _We'll see,_ " he hissed, turning on his heel and sweeping from the room.

For all of his nerve in directly confronting the professor, Calista noticed that Gerald flinched when Severus passed; it took a few seconds for him to recover, shaking his head, and squaring his shoulders.

"Well," Gerald said, after a moment. "That was certainly formidable."

"He's really not that bad -"

"Not him," Gerald said, matter-of-factly. "You. So… we're not to tell anyone else what we heard - do you know what that means?"

Calista swallowed. "That we need to research what could possibly be in the Chamber ourselves."

"I was hoping you'd say that. Shall we start in the Restricted section?"

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Severus hadn't wanted to discuss the patrol routes with Calista that evening; instead, he'd only told her that the situation was far more dangerous than he had initially believed, and that it was now suspected that the Dark Lord was in some way behind or at least encouraging the attacks, though Severus was admittedly at a loss to imagine how the Dark Lord could  _possibly_  have gained entrance to the castle again. The only new professor was Lockhart, and there was absolutely no way -

Well… perhaps it wouldn't be altogether terrible to put a bit of pressure on Lockhart, regardless of whether or not he had any reasonable suspicions. One could never be too careful. And the Potter boy… there was something still decidedly  _odd_  about his behaviour directly following the aftermath of the attack on Mrs. Norris.

The night of the second attack, after his display in the library, Severus had sent Calista to her old bedroom in his quarters to sleep. He realised that it had probably not been the best idea to seek her out so soon after his conversation with Dumbledore - but part of it was that he'd had to see her, to reassure himself she was all right…

Remarkably, she seemed far more worried for her friends than for herself - and though Severus agreed her logic thus far appeared sound, that she wasn't a likely target - there had only been two attacks, and one of them was on a bloody  _cat_. There was not enough data yet for him to be confident in that assessment; and besides, what he'd told Dumbledore was an important factor. She  _had_  been singled out for an attack before, presumably at the Dark Lord's behest.

On Wednesday, when she came to his office for dinner, he had finally calmed down enough to have a proper discussion with her; perhaps she had sensed it, since for the first time in weeks, she came to see him without a book in her arms to spread across the table.

He studied her intently as she sat down. He thought her cheeks were starting to look a little bit less hollowed out, but her eyes were still intensely shadowed.

"You look tired," he said. Calista flicked her gaze up to him.

"Yes," she said, "I am. I'm bogged down with homework, I'm behind in my Charms research, I still can't produce a Patronus - not for lack of effort, I assure you - and I'm now walking younger students who are frightened to all of their classes. But I'm still not letting you take me off patrols. You'll have to lock me in your quarters to stop me."

"That's certainly not off the table," Severus said, baring his teeth. "However… I am willing to propose an alternate arrangement, however reluctantly - and I will be  _most insistent_  upon you keeping up your end of the bargain…"

"I'm listening."

"Your dueling lessons will be weekly, rather than monthly, and I expect you to fully apply yourself during them. You will carry a restorative draught and a healing paste on your person at all times, and as soon as the Mandrake Draught is done, you and the rest of the Prefects will carry a dose of that, as well. None of your patrols will be alone anymore; not even the daytime ones. You will be paired with Mr. Boot or, if he is unable to make arrangements to cover the dungeon route, Miss Folland. You are not, under any circumstances, to traverse the corridors at night by yourself, and at the end of each and every patrol, you will check in with me. I will then walk you to the Slytherin common room, unless you elect to sleep here, instead."

"Wow," she said, a slight note of sarcasm creeping into her voice. "Is there anything  _else?_ "

"As a matter of fact, there is," he said, silkily. "I imagine that you and your friends will try to research the Chamber of Secrets and determine where it is and what sort of creature it contains. I can hardly stop you from reading, but - you will  _not_  go looking for the Chamber, and you will not instruct or encourage anyone else to do so, either."

"What? Of course I wouldn't do that - what do I look like, a  _Gryffindor_? If I find out anything useful, I'll report it to you, of course."

"Good. Now, do you accept my conditions?"

"Do I really have a choice?"

"Of course you have a choice," he said, "Shall I fetch the irons now?"

"You're utterly hilarious these days, aren't you? Fine. I accept."

"Humour aside-"

"Isn't it always?" she muttered.

Severus' nostrils flared;  _damn it_ , he was not going to give her the pleasure of seeing him smirk at that -

"I do expect you to follow all of my conditions to the letter, at all times - failure to do so will have you pulled from patrols immediately and you will be spending an  _awful_  lot of time with me -"

"Oh, the horror," she said, drily, but he could see a smile playing at the corners of her mouth.

"You really are," he said, moodily, "An insufferable little beast."

"I am not," she said, defensively.

"Yes, you are."

"No," she said, "I'm an insufferable  _nearly full grown_ beast."

"The prospect of locking you in the dungeon is becoming more appealing by the moment," he said, but she had won - he was biting back a smile, now.

"By the way - you've received a letter, from Narcissa. Nox couldn't find you in the Great Hall this morning, so he kindly dropped it on my head. It's on the worktop, over there."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Calista opened her letter on the way to the library, scanning it as she walked.

_Dear Calista,_

_I hope this letter finds you well and happy, darling. I've missed hearing from you, though I know you are taking quite the courseload this year. Draco wrote me to let me know that you've broken off your relationship with Marcus. I'm terribly sorry to hear that, and I sincerely hope that you have not been hurt. You know, I think, that Lucius and I were quite fond of him, and that he would have made an excellent match for you, but of course your happiness is important as well._

_I must admit, I'm surprised that you haven't reached out to me recently regarding your relationship problems. I had hoped, since I had not heard from you on the subject in some time, that all was going well. I do know, darling, that you value your secrets, but please don't forget that I will also keep them for you, as long as they do not put you in danger - and remember too, my dear, that your father's definition of danger and mine do not always perfectly align. I know you are a young woman now, even if he forgets._

_Lucius and I will be travelling over the Christmas break this year, so I'm afraid we will not be able to have our lovely family dinner this year. We shall make up for it by thoroughly spoiling both you and Draco with gifts, of course. Your father tells me you are quite the voracious reader these days; if there are any particular books you want, please do tell me, and I will do my best to procure them. I believe Lucius has some contacts with collectors, as well._

_We miss you terribly, darling, and cannot wait until we can see you again - perhaps at Easter, since we will miss Christmas. Please give my love to Draco, and keep an eye on him, and remind him to write home to his mother more often._

_Your Loving Aunt,_

_Narcissa_

Calista folded the letter and put it in her pocket, just as she reached her destination. Gerald was already there, hunched over a book at a table near the back, with a whole stack of others next to him.

He looked up as she approached, a bit guiltily. "I know we do need to actually patrol," he said, before she could say anything, "But I came early, and I found quite a few promising reads in the Restricted section - I thought I'd take the opportunity to do some research on - erm, on our  _project_."

"We looked through there on Sunday," she said, sliding into the seat across from him. "We didn't find anything."

"Yes, well," Gerald said, "Now I'm checking the  _references_. There must be something, some place to start - even if what we're looking for is only alluded to, perhaps we'll be able to trace the references from  _that_  book…"

"That's not a bad idea," Calista said, eying the stack he'd chosen. A few were history books, and a few were tomes of Dark magic. "Shall we split the stack up?"

He nodded, and took the top half off, sliding it across the table to her.

"If we  _do_  find a promising title," Calista said thoughtfully, "I think I can get it for us, even if it's not available in a bookstore."

Gerald looked up, intrigued. "How?"

"My aunt's just written me," she said, "Offering to get me any book I want for Christmas. She says my uncle knows collectors."

"Well, that's certainly a stroke of good fortune," Gerald said, "If we can find the right thing to ask for in time."

They pored through the references of the books Gerald had pulled, until nine o'clock, and then they set about clearing the library, and escorting the younger students at back to their common rooms. They made their rounds through the corridors, exchanging whispers along the way - mostly titles or authors they thought of to try checking the references of next.

By the time they returned to the library proper, it was half past ten; since the Headmaster had turned down the Prefects' idea of patrolling until midnight, that meant they only had a half hour left, and a stack of six books still left to go through.

"Three and three?" Gerald suggested, and Calista nodded, wearily.

"Maybe - maybe we should take a break for now, though," she said, "I… didn't sleep very well, and I've been up since four-thirty. I had an essay to finish for History of Magic."

"Of course." Gerald nodded sympathetically. "Do you want to give the Patronus Charm another go? I brought the book with me. Or - " he transitioned, suddenly, to a pinched look of concern. "Would you rather I bring you back to your father's office early?"

 _The book_. That reminded her of something, something she thought her father had hinted at, weeks ago, when she'd first told him what book she was reading, and who had lent it to her - something that had been worming its way through her mind, in the early hours of the morning, when she'd woken up from another nightmare about being chased by a cloaked figure in the forest, feeling an imaginary pain in the scars on her back.

"Actually, Gerald… there's something I… something I wanted to ask you. It's about… that Patronus book."

Gerald leaned forward slightly, and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"Yes?"

She swallowed. "That book… it caters to… well, a very specific audience. What made you think - what made you think to recommend it to  _me_?"

Gerald nodded, nervously but without surprise, as if he'd been expecting this question at some point. He stretched his neck out briefly, and adjusted his glasses again. But why would he be nervous about a book? Unless… unless it wasn't about the book at all, unless it was about  _her_. Unless he somehow knew… but who would have told him?

"Calista, I…"

He took a deep breath, and let it out. She saw him nervously grip the binding of the book on the table that was closest to him, the very book she had just asked him about; it disarmed her, some, to see him look so nervous; she hadn't quite realised how composed he normally was until, suddenly, he wasn't.

"I haven't been… entirely truthful with you about… about why I've been so eager to be your friend, all this time. I told you about…I told you about seeing your research notes," he said, "And that was true, but - erm, it wasn't really the first time I wanted to be your friend. It - it was just the thing that gave me an excuse, and really pushed me into making the effort to get to know you. The truth is…"

"What?" she asked, quietly, wondering if she had made a mistake, asking him this question. How would she respond if he told her something she didn't want to hear? Like - he had heard all about Bellatrix, from her other friends, or worse, from Olivia, and was only being nice because he pitied her. Or… what if he turned out to be like Marcus, somehow excited by her potential for darkness?

"The truth is, Calista, that I've wanted to be your friend for quite a bit longer than I initially made it sound like. I saw - I noticed - a long time ago…" he clenched his fingers a little tighter against the binding of the book, as if he could draw strength from it.

"I saw how defensive you were," he said, quietly. "The way you - the way you ducked your head when you walked through the corridors - but you don't anymore - the way that you hated being backed into a corner, and - and flinched when people touched you, or came too close - you still do both of those things. And I knew that…"

He was watching her face now, very intently; she tried to keep it impassive, but had no idea, in that moment, if she was actually successful.

"I knew that someone - someone had been hurting you. I knew that… well, I knew that you were like me."

She felt like someone had knocked her in the gut with a blasting curse, or perhaps ripped a piece of her insides out; if this was a joke…

"Are you having me on?" she whispered, afraid to look into his eyes and find out if he was - but she did look, and he appeared terrified, and vulnerable; in short, exactly how she thought she would look, if she were revealing such a thing to someone. Probably exactly how she looked in that very moment.

"No, Calista, I would never - I  _could_  never - joke about something like that."

She recalled, suddenly, a dozen visual clues - how had she missed them before? He always seemed to leave an arm's length, or more, between himself and another person - she had rarely seen him touch anyone - in all the time  _they'd_ been friends, he'd only touched her once, the hug he had given her at his birthday party, and he had seemed stiff, and cautious. And she remembered, now, all the times she had seen him shrink away, or flinch - from Marcus, from her father, from nearly everyone that came too close, too suddenly. Even from her, sometimes.

"I believe you," she said, because it occurred to her suddenly that it was what she would need to be told, if this were her confession - and perhaps, in a way, it was, because she hadn't denied his observations. Besides, she had already failed him once in this regard, when he'd tried to tell her about Marcus last year.

He exhaled, looking relieved but still very nervous. "It - it was my dad," he said, and his shoulders relaxed as he said it, as if he'd suddenly stopped trying to hold up a very large weight. His eyes dropped, appearing to inspect the cover of the book before him. "It happened from - from when I can remember, until I was ten. That was when he… he started hurting Terry, and I just - couldn't let it go on… I finally made someone believe me."

She wanted, powerfully, to reach out and touch his hand, or even his shoulder, to do something to comfort him - but she didn't know if she should - what if it only made him more nervous?

"I'm sorry - " she started to say, but Gerald interrupted her.

"No," he said, "No, I don't want - I don't want you to pity me. I just want… I just want to have someone who understands what it's like. Terry was too young, he doesn't really remember…"

 _I don't want you to pity me._  Well, she understood that sentiment. It was why - part of why - she never told anyone, even the few friends who knew something had happened, about any of the details. It was why her Aunt Narcissa had practically had to wrench the few specifics she  _did_ know out of her.

"I don't pity you," she said quietly, "Pity is for - it's for people who are helpless, and you're not. I'm just - I'm sorry it happened, because you're a really great person, Gerald, and you shouldn't have had to go through that."

"Well, that's just the thing, isn't it?" Gerald asked, "No one should. Not me. Not you. And yet… people do."

 _People do._  She frowned, looking down at the surface of the table, slipping her hands into the pockets of her robes. She felt the edges of her diary, even though she didn't remember taking it with her that day. She felt a small bit of comfort, rubbing her thumb along the edge of the pages.

"I guess I - I never saw it that way. I always thought it was just me."

Gerald smiled sadly. "I know. I felt that way too, for a long time. That's why - that's why I wanted to know you so badly. Although you were quite resistant, at first."

She looked back up, one hand still clutched around the diary in her pocket.

"You know," he continued, "I used to be really afraid of Professor Snape, especially when I first saw you. I thought - I thought maybe he was the one - but then I saw you together a few times, and I could tell right away that I was wrong, that you trusted him - that's when I stopped being afraid of him, too."

"I was afraid of him too, at first," she told him, "I was - I was afraid of everyone."

She decided to take a risk - she felt her heartbeat quicken, even as the words were coming out of her mouth. "Do you know - I mean, did you ever - did you figure out who it was? For me?"

"Well," Gerald said, "I wasn't sure - I'm still not sure - but, I know I never talk about my dad to anyone. And you… you never talk about your mum…"

She swallowed, and nodded.

"Did… Did Percy or Amelia tell you… who she is?"

"I never asked them," he said, "I always thought that if we ever became friends - if you ever wanted me to know - then you would tell me yourself."

She nodded, and took a deep breath.

"You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to," he said, quietly and solemnly. "I know how hard it is, believe me."

"I don't like to say it," she admitted, "But I - I think I do kind of want you to know. It's just… it's just, every time I tell someone, it always feels like there's before, and then there's after. Before, I'm just Calista, and after…"

She hunched her shoulders. "After, I'm Bellatrix's Lestrange's daughter."

Gerald stood up, slowly, and carefully gathered the Patronus book into his arms. He started to stack the other books on top of it.

"You're Professor Snape's daughter," he said, evenly. "And… you're still just Calista."

She looked up, wondering if the relief that was flooding her veins suddenly was visible in her face. She hadn't known  _what_  she wanted him to say - but once she heard it, she knew that was precisely it.

She got to her feet too, using the movement to take a second to clear her expression, to exhale, to try and ease the nervous tingle in her chest.

"Give me half of those," she said, partly to feel normal and partly because he was hefting the entirety of the stack of books they still had left to go through for hints about the Chamber, "You're not going to hoard all of the research for yourself."

"I wouldn't dream of it," he said, "I was just going to carry these for you, until we get to your dad's office -"

She started to scowl, and his mouth twitched into a half-smile.

"I mean, one of us needs to have our wand hand free, in case we run into something," he finished.

She met his gaze, and offered a slow smile.

"Well. I suppose that's a valid point."


	8. Chapter 8

Thursday, the day after her revealing conversation with Gerald, Calista went to the Great Hall for breakfast for the first time in weeks. It felt strange to be there, after so much time avoiding it; when she approached the Slytherin table, she almost didn't know where to sit - but then, Daisy and Sofia made room between them.

"Calista!" Sofia said, brightly. "You're here - goodness, where have you  _been_? I've barely even seen you in the common room lately."

"Prefect patrols," Calista said, "And homework. Mostly."

"Are you sure you're not avoiding someone?" Eva smirked, from Sofia's other side.

"Yeah, maybe that too." What was the point in denying it? Everyone knew, by now, that she and Marcus had broken up. From what she'd heard, a couple of Olivia's fifth-year minions were scrabbling for his attention now that he was single - she still felt strange imagining him with anyone else, but part of her was almost beginning to hope that one of them would be successful, so that he would stop giving her looks whenever they passed each other in the corridors, or in the common room.

He wasn't in the Great Hall yet when she sat down, which she had mixed feelings about - on the one hand, it was easier to keep avoiding him. On the other hand, there was something she had to say to him.

She found her gaze drawn to the Ravenclaw table - Penny and Amelia were leaned over a book, pointing to it and discussing something, while they ate - Penny nibbling delicately on a corner of toast, Amelia stuffing half a sausage into her mouth and then taking a swig of pumpkin juice. Impressively, she had never known Amelia to spill food on a book, even when phsyics dictated it should have been inevitable.

She wished that she could go sit beside them without incurring suspicious stares from her own Housemates - maybe from some of the Ravenclaws that didn't know her very well, too. She wished - she felt a pang of guilt, as she caught herself wishing that she could trade long black sofas and green-tinted, subterranean windows for the airy ceiling and bookshelves of the Ravenclaw common room.

Someone on the closest side of the Ravenclaw table got up to leave, and through the space they left she could see Gerald, head low - also hunched over a book, she guessed. She wondered what he was reading, if it was one of the books they'd taken from the library the evening before. She hadn't yet had time to start going through hers, but she was planning on starting as soon as she finished her Arithmancy homework.

"Ow!" She started, as someone poked her in the back. Eva was leaning around Sofia's back and the offending finger was still extended.

"Quidditch Captain, stage left," Eva murmured, jerking her head towards the door. Calista followed her gaze, and saw Marcus and Derek approaching the table. Both of them spotted her; Derek's look was decidedly unfriendly, while Marcus' was the same mix of resentment and sorrowful yearning that he kept levelling at her in the common room. They sat at the far end of the table, among several other members of the Quidditch team.

Calista set down the slice of bacon she'd been eating, suddenly not feeling the least bit hungry. She glanced up at the staff table - she'd told her father last night that she was planning on coming to the Great Hall for breakfast, so he had too - and noticed that he was most definitely watching the Slytherin table. She wasn't sure if she thought that was a good thing or a bad thing.

She stood up, and walked to the end of the table; she stood behind Marcus only a few seconds, before Hecate Rowle, one of the fifth years that had been trying to catch Marcus' eye, saw her and shot her a look of pure venom.

"Marcus,  _she's_ behind you," Hecate said, wrinkling her nose; Marcus turned his head quickly.

"Calista…" he said, uncertainly.

"I need to talk to you," she said, and he practically leapt up; Hecate scowled.

"Here, or… or somewhere else?" he asked, uncertainly.

"In the corridor is fine," she said, and she let him go first, and followed him out. He hunched awkwardly near the wall, a few steps from the door.

She looked up at him; despite everything, she felt a tiny flutter in her stomach - Amelia was wrong, he  _was_  cute. A small part of her wanted to forget everything about the last two weeks, stand up on her tiptoes, and kiss him, even now.

She pushed that feeling down, knowing that it wouldn't be right or fair to give him hope, when the much larger part of her still felt that she had made the right decision.

"Marcus, I know what's been going on between you and Gerald lately, and I'm asking you to stop it."

Marcus sneered. "He went whining to you, didn't he?"

She felt a flicker of irritation. "No," she said, and then added, smoothly, "My dad told me about your detentions."

"Yeah, I've had three of them. Missed a Quidditch practise. You want to see if I'm lying? Go ahead - 'course, it's not like I really have a choice if you do or not."

She frowned, feeling a pang of guilt. "I told you I didn't mean to do that."

"Yeah, well. You still did."

"Well, I don't know if you care or not, but I am sorry about that. It doesn't - it doesn't mean you can take it out on Gerald, though. It's not his fault."

Marcus snorted. "Dunno how you expect me to believe that when that smarmy git is the reason you broke up with me."

"That's not true, and you know it."

"Is too, from where I'm standing. I s'pose you're really enjoying those library patrols now - snogging him in the Restricted section, are you?"

She scowled, hearing tension creep into her voice.

"No, I'm not. We're friends, that's all. But you know - even if I  _was_  it wouldn't really be any of your business. Just like it's not my business what you do with Hecate Rowle."

"I'm not doing anything with -" A crafty sort of look entered his eyes, then. "Would you be cross if I  _was_  doing stuff with Hecate?"

 _Maybe._  She pushed that thought down, to accompany the diminishing desire to kiss him.

"No, it's none of my business, like I said."

The doors to the Great Hall opened behind Marcus, and Severus stepped out, wearing a formidable look. He looked at them, and addressed Calista.

"Mr. Flint is not giving you any trouble, I presume?"

Marcus shrank away from the professor, looking suddenly nervous; Calista looked up at him steadily.

"No, Dad, everything's fine."

He frowned, taking in her expression. After a moment, he nodded, and continued down the corridor.

"Gee, thanks for not asking him to poison me," Marcus muttered, once Severus was out of ear shot, "Or I guess maybe it'd be you poisoning me, huh?"

She blinked. "What?"

Marcus rolled his eyes. "Oh, yeah. 'Do you know what a Death Cap Draught does to you, Mr. Flint? It would be a pity if you had to find out firsthand'," he said, in a poor imitation of Severus' silky tone. "He made sure to tell me  _you're_  the one that made it, too."

"He's not really going to poison you."

"Wouldn't be so sure about that. But hey - what do you care, anymore?"

The doors of the Great Hall opened again, and students began streaming out in groups; classes would begin in a few moments.

Gerald was walking their way, head down, balancing an open book in both hands. She tried not to look at him, so Marcus wouldn't notice him and decide to give him a hard time.

"I do care, you know." she said quietly.

Gerald glanced up, perhaps at the sound of her voice; she didn't have time to interpret his look before he continued on his way, pace quickening almost imperceptibly.

"We were friends, Marcus, before everything else," she continued, and Marcus frowned. "I still care about you, and I hope that we'll be friends again at some point… but that's not going to happen if you keep mistreating my other friends."

"Yeah, well…" his expression turned surly. "Maybe I don't want to be friends with you."

"Fine," she said, slightly hurt but wondering if she even had the right to feel that way, "You don't have to be. But you  _do_  have to leave Gerald alone."

He sneered again. "Yeah? And what if I don't? What if I smash his stupid, smarmy face-"

She cut him off, lifting her chin and injecting a fierce edge into her voice. "Well, I guess you'll find out, if it comes to that. But - please do remember, I asked nicely first."

He made a face, but she saw a flicker of fear in his grey eyes.

"Really, Calista? You're starting to sound just like your  _dad_."

"Thank you," she said, turning on her heel and striding away from him. She realised two things, as she walked away: one, that he was right, she  _had_  sounded like her dad just then. And two… she definitely didn't want to kiss him anymore.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Gerald and Endria had indeed changed the scheduled Prefect patrols so that all patrols were done in pairs. Just as he'd promised Severus, Calista was paired with Gerald for all of her nighttime patrols, but he had Ancient Runes on Thursday afternoons, so she had one patrol with Endria as well.

"I can't believe I'm stuck on a daytime patrol," Endria had groused, a couple of weeks in. "It's nothing but helping first years who are lost find their classes - and the dungeon route is so boring, that's why we always make the fifth years do it - I was going to stick one of them on it with you, but Professor Snape said he wanted  _me_  to do it for some reason."

"Sorry," Calista said, hoping that Endria didn't know that  _she_  was the reason she'd been reassigned - that Severus was insisting Calista share her patrol routes with either her or Gerald. "But… if the dungeon route is usually for fifth years, why did I get it again this year?"

"Well, you can blame Gerry for that one," Endria said, "We had you down for Wednesday afternoons on the seventh floor, but he specifically wanted you on the library patrol Wednesday nights again, and you can't have two shifts in a row. Ergo, you're back in the dungeons on Thursdays. With me, apparently."

"Gerald requested to patrol with me?"

"Yeah. Said you got on well last year. Seemed a bit strange to me, since him and Marcus hate each other so much - but I guess that's not really an issue anymore, is it?"

"Erm, no. I guess it's not…"

"He… he really liked you, you know. Marcus. I gather he's being a bit of a prick lately, but - he's not all bad."

"I know that."

"What was it that made you end things, anyway? Was it the jealousy, or something else?"

Calista blinked. How did Endria know about that? But then - she remembered that Marcus and Endria had once been good friends; she didn't really know if they still were. "Yeah, it was mostly that," she said, because she didn't feel like explaining.

Endria nodded. "I kept warning him about that, you know. Seemed obsessed with the idea that you and that Gryffindor guy - the Prefect, Weasley - were going to start going out. I told him, Marcus, if that was her type then she wouldn't have ever started going out with  _you_  in the first place…" the older girl chuckled. "He didn't like that."

"Yeah, I - can't imagine he would," Calista said. She glanced over at Endria as they rounded a corner; she was right, this patrol was dreadfully boring. When she had it to herself, she used to slip into her father's office while he was teaching, and read at his desk. She supposed she couldn't do that anymore, not when the Head Girl would know she was shirking her duties - useless as they were in the middle of the afternoon. "You know, I - I used to be, uhm… well, a bit jealous, too. Of… of you and Marcus being such good friends. I thought he would start to like  _you_ , instead of me… but I got over that, eventually."

Endria laughed, tossing her head back. "No way. You actually worried about Marcus and  _me_?"

"Erm… yeah? Why is that so funny?"

"Let's just say," Endria said, grinning almost wickedly, "That Marcus is  _definitely_  not my type. I'm more into certain - well, certain  _Ravenclaws_."

"Oh." Calista managed a weak smile; she tried very hard not to think about why she felt suddenly sick to her stomach.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

"Don't you ever get tired of spending time with me?" Calista asked with a half-hearted scowl, wrapping her fingers around wand and taking up her usual position at one end of the corridor in Severus' quarters. "I mean, don't you have better things to do on a Sunday? I know  _I_  do…"

"How could one ever grow tired of your perfectly delightful company?" Severus responded, drily. "Raise your wand - you remember the incantation, yes?"

"I  _am_  delightful," she said, lifting her chin, and her wand. "You're doing sarcasm wrong."

"I've never had so vile an accusation levelled at me; and by my own blood, no less. I suppose wounding me thusly is your way of expressing that you have no interest in the book that came in for you yesterday - the one I made a special trip to Knockturn Alley to pick up earlier this very morning."

Her eyes went wide. " _A Complete Compendium of Runes Through the Ages?!_ They got another copy in?"

"As a matter of fact, they did - but you have better things to do on a Sunday, so I won't bother you with that -"

"Where is it? Can I have it now?"

Severus smirked. "You can have it after our lesson - unless, of course, I'm being sarcastic. Now, let's begin. Cast."

She scowled, torn between excitement that the book was in and irritation that he was teasing her about it. She knew from looking at the copy she'd given Gerald that it was indexed extremely well - she'd be able to easily find all the pages that had runes that might help with her project. Her fingers practically tingled with the anticipation of opening the cover…

But first… she sighed, and tightened her fingers around her wand. First, she had to curse her father.

" _Fulmenus!"_  she said, and a thin, crackling bolt of lightning shot from her wand, hitting him square in the chest; he doubled over, and gasped, clutching at his chest.

"I'm sor-" she started, and he lifted his own wand. " _Expelliarmus!_ " he said, and her wand flew out of her hand. He caught it neatly, sucked in a breath, and then straightened.

"If I were your enemy," he said, sternly, "You would be dead right now, instead of disarmed. What have I  _told_  you, time and time again?"

"I'm supposed to disarm you, at the end - but Dad, I was worried that I'd hurt you -"

"I assure you, I'm perfectly capable of defending myself from any serious harm you might cause."

"Well, why  _don't_ you, then? If you want me to really try in these lessons - then shouldn't you?"

Severus frowned, holding her wand out to her.

"I assumed," he said, "That my casting anything but a disarming spell on you would… upset you."

She took her wand back. "Why? Because I'm - what is it? A 'trauma survivor'?"

The words tasted bitter in her mouth, twisted it up.

"It… seemed reasonable to assume that having a parent use a combative spell against you might bring up some rather unpleasant memories, yes."

"I'm nearly certain it will," she admitted, "But you're already asking me to bring them up, aren't you? To - to draw power…"

"I ask you to draw from your anger, yes. I don't want - I would prefer not to bring up the fear -"

Calista shook her head, almost disbelievingly. "But they're - they're the same, they're together. You  _know_  that, Dad, you're always pulling me up on it in legilimency lessons."

Severus swallowed. "I've only been trying to protect you -"

"I know. And you - you've always done a very good job of that. But, Dad - at some point, I need to be able to  _really_ protect myself."

"You defended yourself against Quirrell," Severus pointed out quickly.

"Yes, I did," she said quietly, "By - by instinct, and by knowing the spells. I didn't really know what I was doing, and I don't really know if I could do it again. Even if I could… there's a difference between knowing how to keep myself safe long enough to get to your office, and  _really_  knowing how to protect myself. You're not… I mean, Dad, I'm sixteen. In less than four months, I'll be of age. You're not always going to be just down the corridor from me."

A peculiar expression crossed Severus' face.

"Very well," he said, nodding tightly. "I'll attempt to counter your spells - I won't cast anything that could hurt you, but I won't deliberately let you land a hit on me, either. I promise you, this will not be as easy as you may think. Shall we begin?"

She nodded, and stepped back, to her usual place. They both raised their wands.

" _Fulmen-_ " she began, but Severus' wand slashed a movement through the air first.

" _Locomotor Mortis_ ," he said, stopping her in her tracks; she had to stop casting, and wave her arms foolishly to keep from falling over.

" _Expelliarmus!_ " Her wand flew out of her hand and into his again.

He flicked his wand, releasing her from the spell, and held her wand out to her again.

"Calista, are you certain-"

"Yes," she said, stepping back to her position, for the third time. Her face was a mask of determination. "This is the only way I'm really going to learn."

He nodded, reluctantly, and they lifted their wands again.

" _Expelliarmus!"_ An arc of red light shot out from her wand.

" _Protego!_ " He was unbelievably fast; the spell ricocheted back towards her -

She felt an instinctual jolt of panic to see the light of the spell heading for her; reacting, she flinched out of the way, narrowly missing being hit with it.

" _Affligus!_ " she gasped. He was knocked back; she stepped forward, immediately wanting make sure he was all right, despite his earlier warning. His wand twitched in her direction.

" _Petrificus Total-"_ he started, and then instinct kicked in again; she cut her wand through the air.

" _Fulmenus!_ " A narrow, white-bright jet shot through the air, meeting the light of his spell head-on; there was a crackle and a fizzle as both spells died out between them. Severus' mouth was already forming another incantation -

" _Affligus!_ " she said again, and then, " _Expelliarmus!_ "

His wand came flying towards her; she reached for it half-heartedly, but she was distracted by his indrawn breath, the crashing sound of his body hitting the door behind him. She distantly heard his wand clattering to the stone floor beside her, as she rushed forward.

"Dad? Are you all right?"

He caught his breath, accepting her offered arm. He got to his feet, gingerly, with her support.

"A bit of bruising, perhaps," he admitted. "Nothing more."

She frowned, searching his face for a sign that he was in greater pain than he was letting on. He looked away, and stepped carefully around her to retrieve his wand from the floor.

"What about you?" he asked, straightening, wand in hand, mirroring her searching look. "Are you all right?"

She nodded, controlling her expression. "How… how did I do?" she asked, after a moment.

"I think," Severus said, begrudgingly, "That you may have had the right idea."

A brief, uncertain smile flickered across her features. Then:

"Dad? Can I ask you something very important?"

He stepped closer, attentive. "Of course."

She took a deep breath. "Where's my book?"

He scowled, and exhaled. "It's in my study, you ungrateful little wretch."

Before he had even finished his sentence, she had slipped her wand into her pocket and pushed open the door to his study; she emerged seconds later, cradling the massive tone, with a light in her eyes.

"You forgot insufferable," she reminded him, with a small, sly grin.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

It was noisy in Professor Flitwick's independent study class, despite the fact that there were only six students. The professor himself was absent, having retreated to his adjoining office to correct papers, though he had assured them they could knock if they needed him.

On top of that, the sign-up sheet had just gone around earlier that week for students who wished to stay at Hogwarts over Christmas break, and those that were staying were discussing the feast, while those that were not were excitedly making plans to meet up over the break.

"I heard they're going to let us go to Hogsmeade on Christmas Eve," a seventh-year Hufflepuff said, "I'm going to stay behind just for that - I heard Madame Rosmerta's making her special sloe gin punch..."

"Well, good for you," a sixth-year Ravenclaw boy groused, "But I'm only sixteen, she won't serve me. Tried to get mulled mead last year and she wouldn't even give me  _that_."

"Maybe they won't check," the Hufflepuff girl said, "I mean, it's  _Christmas_ , after all…"

Calista hunched her shoulders, and bent lower over her book, the one that her father had picked up for her from Knockturn Alley a few weeks ago. She was flipping, continuously, from the index to other pages and back, jotting down notes on a sheet of parchment as she went.

There were dozens of runes that could possibly relate to a Freezing Charm - runes for ice, snow, cold, and then runes for motion and all of the negating runes. The wand movement for a Freezing Charm was very simple, so trying to find a rune whose shape matched it wasn't proving fruitful so far - she needed to find another angle. She sighed, and flipped back to the index.

Beside her, Gerald was the only other student actively engaged in his independent study project, though even he had set his Shield Charm notes aside, on top of his copy of the very same book Calista was engrossed in. He was standing next to his desk and practising his Patronus Charm, murmuring the incantation softly with each attempt.

" _Expecto Patronum,_ " she heard him say, again. She glanced over. A cloud of silver flew from his wand; she thought she saw a vague shape within. She squinted. Something with… wings, perhaps?

He must have felt her gaze; his face turned to hers, and a look of concern pinched it, suddenly. "I'm not disrupting your studies, am I?"

She raised her eyebrows. "Yes," she said, "Yes, Laura Griggs and Nathaniel Goldstein over there plotting at the volume of a hippogriff stampede on how to get served alcohol in Hogsmeade is perfectly fine, but your quiet Charms practise is just too much of a distraction."

For a moment, he looked uncertain; then, he smiled softly.

"You're joking," he said.

She quirked a smile back. "No mystery how you ended up in Ravenclaw - that's looking very good, by the way. I've only barely managed to get a flicker with mine, so far. Actually, come to think of it, there might have just been far off lightning when I was practising…"

"You'll get it," he said, reassuringly. "I mean -  _I'm_  almost there, and…"

She wondered if he was going to say something about the secret they'd shared, in the library that day, felt her heart speed up just slightly with the shadow of panic; not here, she hoped, not in the daylight, not in a classroom filled with other students…

"To be perfectly honest with you," Gerald continued, "I think you're a bit stronger than me in Charms."

"Well, but Sparkman says it's not really a traditional charm," she said, just to have something to say. She felt her cheeks warm slightly; he was very good, so she took it as quite a compliment that he thought she might be better. "It's… well, he compares it to the mental arts…"

Of course, she reflected inwardly, if that  _were_  true, then she most certainly should have an advantage when it came to casting a Patronus - and yet, so far, that did not appear to be the case.

Gerald was regarding her thoughtfully. "That may well be true, though I think his point is that there's more than one skill that one can harness to find success with the charm."

She frowned, wondering perhaps a moment too late if that was something she shouldn't have said; she remembered her father's warning about being careful in mentioning legilimency; but after all, it  _was_  in the book, and Gerald had read it, too.

"Calista, I hope you're not letting that chapter worry you too much," Gerald said earnestly, lowering himself into his seat and leaning towards her, so that he could speak quietly. "Sparkman's - I've read his biography, and he grew up with Shayburn Shrouding, who started the International Federation of Legilimancers -"

Calista blinked. "There's an International Federation of Legilimancers?"

"Well, not anymore, right?" Gerald said quietly, adjusting his glasses with one finger. "Not since You-Know-Who rose to power - he created quite a stigma, obviously. The Federation disbanded in the mid-seventies. But my point is - Calista, that's Sparkman's lens, but it doesn't mean you have to be acquainted with those arts to use his method - for me, the real takeaway from that chapter is that self-awareness and intelligence help, and I think - I think you've got plenty of that."

She felt her cheeks inexplicably warming again, and she turned her face quickly back to her textbook to cover it. She forced herself to focus on the shapes of the runes on the pages - part of her was seized, suddenly, with a desire to tell him that not only was she  _acquainted with_ the mental arts, but was in fact an adept practitioner, but her father's warning was ringing in her head -  _there will be people who will judge you unfairly, if they find out legilimency is a skill you possess -_ and she realised that she didn't think she could bear it if, after everything, Gerald  _did_  judge her in that way.

She told herself silently that it was because of all the times she'd been unfairly judged in the past, that she would feel precisely the same about  _any_  of her friends finding out. Besides, her father was right about something else too - her skills were more useful if no one knew she had them, and even though Gerald didn't seem like the type to share someone else's secrets, it was almost certainly better to be safe than sorry - even if a tiny part of her did wonder if he would be impressed by her being an Occlumens, at least.

"Calista?" Gerald ventured, hesitantly. "Is something wrong?"

She took a breath, and rearranged her features, looking up only when she knew that none of her thoughts were visible on her face.

"I'm just - a bit overwhelmed with all of the different rune possibilities for my wandless freezing charm attempt," she said, "It's difficult to narrow down which ones might work."

"Oh. Maybe I can help..." Gerald said, reaching out slowly. He stopped, hand hovering over the sheet of parchment with her notes. "May I?" he asked, politely, and she nodded.

He took the parchment, and frowned at it thoughtfully.

"Well," he said, "You have Hagalaz and Isaz on here, but I think those can be safely eliminated, since they're also in the runic alphabets known to Muggles - I imagine that if they had any sort of real power, they'd be covered under the Statute of Secrecy."

Calista blinked, surprised again by his knowledge. "What do you mean - Muggles have different runic alphabets?"

"Well, of course," Gerald said, slightly puzzled. "Didn't you… didn't you know that?"

"I just found out this summer that you can't cast Incendio on a gas oven, so no, I didn't know that."

Gerald chuckled. "Well, I'm glad you didn't find out by attempting it. You know, you probably should have elected to take Muggle Studies if you really know so little about the Muggle world."

 _Are you mental_? She wanted to say to him,  _I live in the Slytherin dormitory. If I'd signed up for Muggle Studies, I'd be afraid to sleep at night_. Instead, she said, rather testily, "Well, it's a bit late for that now, isn't it?"

"Well, maybe not," Gerald said, with a wide smile, evidently unaffected by her snappish tone. "As it happens, you're in luck - I have  _several_  Muggle books at home about runes. I'll bring them to school with me when I come back from Christmas break."

Calista felt her lips quirk in a slow smile. "Muggles - Muggles have  _books_?" she said, widening her eyes with mock surprise.

Gerald's eyes widened, too, in a sort of horrified disbelief. Calista laughed. "Gerald, I'm  _joking_.'

He exhaled, looking relieved. "Oh, good. I was going to  _say_ …"

She grinned. "Sorry, I couldn't resist... I think I  _would_  like to borrow those books, though."

"Sure," Gerald said, and then he paused, shaking his head slightly and pinching his face into its familiar expression of concern. "The only thing is though… I'm afraid you'll have to read them outside."

She furrowed her brow, grin fading. "Outside? Why?"

"Well, they might burst into flames otherwise," he said, quite seriously, "Non-magical artifacts tend to do that, when exposed to the intense magical field surrounding places like Hogwarts."

She frowned. If that were true, then it seemed terribly dangerous for him to take the risk of bringing them here in the first place - but then, she remembered that Amelia had those pre-inked quill sort of things she called pens that came from the Muggle world, and she always used them to take notes in class…

"Wait a minute," she said, suspiciously. "You're having me on, aren't you?"

Gerald summoned a grin that was nearly a replica of hers from a moment before.

"Sorry," he echoed, "I couldn't resist."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Calista's father was in a foul temper on Saturday, when she went to see him in his office for her lessons. Several potions ingredients had gone missing from his private stores, and on top of it, he disclosed that no less than three cauldron explosions had happened in his classes that week, and one of them had injured several students, including her cousin Draco.

"Is Draco all right?" she asked, concerned "He seemed fine this morning…"

"Yes, yes, I suppose it was relatively minor - he was only splashed with a Swelling Solution - but the point is, it was a  _deliberate_  explosion - some boneheaded Gryffindor threw a firework into Mr. Goyle's cauldron."

Her eyes widened. "Someone threw a  _firework_  into a  _potion_? But I haven't heard of any expulsions -"

Severus' eyes flashed forebodingly.

"Unfortunately, I can't say definitively  _which_  boneheaded Gryffindor it was - though I do have my suspicions, and if I'm ever able to prove it, let me assure you, an expulsion most certainly  _will_  be in order."

"Which ingredients were stolen?" she wondered, eyes going to the locked cupboard that sat against the wall of his office.

"Boomslang skin, ashwinder eggs, bicorn horn… my stores of pearl dust appear diminished as well."

Calista frowned, running through ingredient lists in her head. "Boomslang skin and bicorn horn, that could be for Polyjuice - ashwinder eggs and pearl dust could be a love potion… but I can't think of  _anything_  that's got all four of those in it."

"There isn't anything," Severus said, darkly. "The ashwinder eggs are too corrosive, they would destroy the integrity of the bicorn horn and render it useless at best, and mildly poisonous at worst. The only common thread I can find for all four ingredients is that they're all extremely expensive - I wonder, in fact, if the thefts may have been orchestrated as a personal attack. "

He looked and sounded, in that moment, very much like someone who would be incapable of forgiving such a thing. Calista shivered, even though of course she had nothing to do with it.

"Who would do that, though?" she wondered, and he looked at her, eyebrows practically reaching his hairline as he circled his desk, and sat down behind it.

"All right," she admitted, reflecting. "I suppose - a student or two - might possibly be tempted…"

"The majority of the school is aware by now that I'm tasked with brewing a Mandrake Restorative Draught," Severus said, a snarl creeping into his words, "And yet, some  _delinquent_  took no issue with stealing the very last bicorn horn in my stores -"

"We already added bicorn horn to the infusion last week," Calista reminded him.

"Yes, well, the  _thief_  doesn't know that." He gestured for her to take the seat across the desk from his.

"Unless the thief is a N.E.W.T. student, I doubt they'd realise bicorn horn is used in a Mandrake Draught," Calista pointed out reasonably, as she settled on the chair. "Even then - I mean,  _I_ didn't even know precisely what's in it until we started making it."

"I'm not certain what point you're trying to make," Severus said, silkily, raising his wand. He waited for her nod before he cast. " _Legilimens!_ "

"Only that it might not be quite as sinister as you're making it sound," she said, smoothly assembling a string of memories, weaving a tapestry of falsehoods for him to peruse.

_Severus paced the length of his office, eyes flashing dangerously in the semi-dark._

' _The Dark Lord will rise again,' he said, smoothly, 'And when he does - I will be at his side, his most loyal servant.'_

"Things are not always quite as they appear," she reminded him quietly, "But - nevertheless - I'll keep my eyes and ears open, when I'm patrolling. Perhaps the thief will let something slip."

' _Quirrell was unworthy, a weak fool. Bested by an eleven-year-old - and he thought he deserved a place in the Dark Lord's inner circle -'_

"I appreciate the thought, Calista, but you needn't concern yourself with my problems."

_A ring of cloaked figures surrounded one central figure. Most of their faces were obscured, but two of them - only two, one at each side of the central figure - had their hoods down, faces visible._

_Severus stood at the figure's left, face utterly inscrutable. At the right hand side of the figure, stood a thin woman with a mane of wild, dark hair and mad, grey eyes._

"Our problems," Calista corrected him, squaring her shoulders with determination.


	9. Chapter 9

One Sunday, about a week before the end of the winter term, Calista walked into the Great Hall for breakfast and very nearly walked immediately back out again.

She made it about halfway to the Slytherin table, when she heard a familiar, high-pitched giggle that immediately made her stomach turn.

Her gaze flicked instantly towards the Slytherin table, immediately suspicious - in her experience, anything that made Olivia Avril giggle like  _that_  was very bad news indeed for Calista - and this day was no exception.

She stopped, perhaps six or eight paces from the table. The first thing she saw was Olivia's smug, self-satisfied grin. The second thing she saw was Hecate Rowle, pressed up so close to Marcus Flint that she was practically sitting in his lap, with her hand on his arm and a triumphant smirk on her face.

"You're such a  _darling_  couple," Olivia trilled to the pair loudly, and then her grin turned wolfish, as she leaned back to glance around them, to where Calista had stopped in her tracks. "Don't you agree, Calista?"

Marcus started visibly when he heard her name, and turned his head quickly in her direction for a fraction of an instant - then Hecate used her free hand to pull his face back towards hers, and kissed him so enthusiastically that it looked to Calista like she might be trying to eat him. Calista saw motion on the horizon, and realised to her horror that the only thing that could possibly make the entire situation worse was about to happen - at the staff table, her father had half-risen from his seat.

"Yes," Calista managed hurriedly, finding her voice; she rearranged her face, hoping that whatever strange, mixed-up feeling was currently tugging and twisting at her insides wasn't visible there. "Yes, of course. I mean - I don't care."

She lifted her chin, and turned - not to leave the Great Hall, which would surely be interpreted as the precise reaction that Olivia - and probably Hecate and Marcus, too - desired, but in a different direction. She set a quick pace for her new destination, cutting a swift look in her father's direction as she did so, hoping that he didn't follow through with whatever it was he had risen to do.

"Amelia," Calista said, urgently, tapping her best friend on the shoulder. "Let me sit with you, please."

Amelia looked up, her look of surprise lasting only a few seconds before she scooted over, making room for Calista between her and a younger Ravenclaw girl Calista didn't really know. She saw her father sit back down at the staff table, and let out a small exhale of relief.

"Calista?" Amelia wondered, "Are you - I mean, I don't care, but are you supposed to be here?"

"I don't care, either," Calista said, fervently. "I'm - Can I just pretend to be a Ravenclaw, for today? I can't stand to spend all day in the Slytherin common room watching Marcus and Hecate sucking each other's faces like a pair of dementors."

Amelia's eyes widened, and she started to turn towards the Slytherin table, until Calista's whispered hiss stopped her.

"Don't  _look_ , then they'll know I've said something - they'll think I care."

"Hang on," Amelia said, leaning towards her, and shaking her head slightly. "Marcus is dating  _Hecate Rowle_  now?"

"Evidently."

"God, that's - eugh, she's the  _worst_ ," Amelia said, passionately. "She's made more first-years cry than I can count - likes to tell them there is no return train, that their parents sent them to Hogwarts just to get rid of them… and Penny caught her in the owlery one time, trying to  _steal_ letters, I guess so they'd think their parents never wrote them back."

"That's horrible. Who even  _thinks_  of things like that?"

"Hecate Rowle does, that's who," Amelia said grimly. "I can't believe he'd go for  _her_  after  _you_."

"Well, if that's what he wants - who he wants - I don't care," Calista said, with more conviction than she felt. "It's not my business - I just -"

Calista frowned, becoming aware of a few curious - and at least one not entirely friendly - looks from other students at the table. "Amelia, I don't think people are exactly thrilled with me sitting here," she said, quietly.

"Who cares?" Amelia said carelessly, "You're a Prefect, you can do whatever you want."

"That's not really how it works…"

Amelia rolled her eyes. "You sound like Penny."

"Where  _is_  Penny, anyway?" Calista had noticed she wasn't at her usual place beside Amelia, and a quick glance told her that she wasn't sitting anywhere else at the Ravenclaw table, either. She noticed Gerald was missing too.

"Woke up early to work on the Arithmancy homework. She's in the library with Percy.  _'Studying'_. Probably more like - well, the dementor thing you said about Marcus and Hecate."

Calista frowned. "Have you finished that yet?"

"Nope."

"It's due tomorrow."

"Yep."

"You're about to ask me if you can copy my formulas, aren't you?"

Amelia grinned, and widened her eyes in a "pretty please" sort of look.

"Tell you what," Calista said, "Let me hide in the Ravenclaw common room for the day, and you've got a deal."

"Brilliant," Amelia said, brightly. "Penny and Gerry already both told me no, when I asked last night if I could copy. I was afraid I was actually going to have to do the work myself, for a minute."

"I said you could copy the  _formulas_ ," Calista reminded her, eyebrows raised. "You'll have to do the calculations yourself. And the diagrams."

"Ugh, fine. I guess."

"So… should we go now? I'd rather stop by the dungeons to get my stuff  _before_  Marcus and Hecate get back there…"

"Fine, fine. Hang on, one thing first, though."

"What?" Calista frowned, impatiently.

Amelia reached out with her fork, and stabbed a particularly fat sausage. She plopped it unceremoniously down on Calista's plate.

"Eat that," she commanded, "You're too damn skinny lately."

"I'm not hungry-"

Amelia rolled her eyes. "Humour me, then. Anyway - if you gain weight, maybe your boobs will get bigger. It worked for me."

"You're so gross," Calista said, "And I don't like sausage. The skin creeps me out." She ignored it, but reached for a slice of bacon, instead, shoving it in her mouth. "There. Happy now?"

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

"I can't believe you actually have a copy of  _Hogwarts, A History_  in here," Calista said, perusing one of the bookshelves in the Ravenclaw common room.

She had left her school robes in her dormitory, so as not to be utterly obnoxious about the fact that she wasn't  _really_  supposed to be in Ravenclaw Tower, and was wearing black trousers and a yellow blouse that was one of her favourites - not least of all, now, because Marcus had always hated it, since it had a high neckline and long tails that tucked securely into her trousers. She had changed her hair, quickly, too, pulling it down from the ponytail she'd worn almost exclusively since Marcus had said he liked it that way, ages ago.

Amelia sat at a nearby study table, with her own and Calista's homework spread out before her, Arithmancy book open on an otherwise empty chair next to her.

"Uh, why wouldn't we?" Amelia wondered, scribbling furiously.

"Every copy in the library's been checked out for weeks," Calista said, reaching for the book, and flipping back to the index, out of habit. "I suppose they reckon there'll be something in it about the Chamber of Secrets - but, of course, there's … there… isn't…"

She stopped, staring down at an innocuous-looking entry in the index.

_Blueprints, p. 394; see also: References: Diomhaireachdan an Caisteal._

She didn't need to bother to turn to page 394 - she had read the book at least a half dozen times, and knew that it contained only a few short paragraphs explaining how the Hogwarts blueprints had mysteriously disappeared as soon as construction on the castle was completed in 989 A.D. Instead, she flipped quickly to the References section, scanning the pages quickly, and running her finger down the lines - there.

Her finger stopped near the bottom of a page.  _Diomhaireachdan an Caisteal. Author: S. Slytherin. Published c. 990 A.D. Limited Printing._

" _Diomhair_ ," she whispered, recognising the name of a rune, one she'd unearthed during her long research into the origins of the spell  _Alohomora_. "Secret."

And  _caisteal_...she was nearly certain that was the Scottish Gaelic word for 'castle'.

"Erm.. Calista?" Amelia ventured, looking up, "Are you all right? You're whispering to yourself like a madwoman…"

"Where's Gerald?" Calista asked - and then, as if she had willed it, the tall, heavy door that guarded the entrance to the tower swung inward, and a stack of books with legs stepped into the airy common room, and wobbled quickly over to the nearest table.

Once the books were piled neatly on the table, the legs stepped out from behind the stack, and revealed themselves to be attached to Gerald Boot, who looked mildly surprised, and a bit more than mildly pleased, to see a particular Slytherin standing in the middle of the Ravenclaw common room.

"Calista! Solved the riddle again, did you? We ought to make you an honorary Ravenclaw." He smiled, warmly. "You've got perfect timing for a visit, by the way. I figure we've really only got a couple of days left for you to write your aunt and let her know what book you want her to send, so I just got a whole new stack of books from the library to look through for references to the - erm, for our project..."

He noticed, at the last moment, that Amelia was seated nearby, and two fourth-years were playing chess at a table by the far window.

"I don't think we need them," she said, looking up solemnly from the book; her finger still marked the page. "I think I've found - I think I know what I need to ask for."

She stepped towards him - just in time, she remembered that it made him nervous to draw close too quickly; she paused a pace away, and held the book out to him, open to the correct page.

" _Diomhaireachdan an Caisteal,_ " she said, quietly. "Secrets of the Castle. Published in 990 A.D. by Salazar Slytherin. There's just one thing - I don't suppose you can read Scottish Gaelic?"

Gerald shook his head, carefully taking the book from her hands. He leaned over it, peering at the open spread of pages. "No," he said, regretfully, "I can read French and Latin, and a little bit of Irish Gaelic - but they're really not very similar…Sorry, which line are you looking at?"

She slipped closer, easing next to him carefully, so she wouldn't startle him. She hadn't realised it until she was right next to him, but they were nearly of a height - if he  _was_  any taller than she was, it certainly wasn't by much. She reached her finger out, pointing to the line again. "There."

His eyes widened behind his glasses, as his finger came down next to hers on the page. "I can't believe I've never noticed this citation before," he said, a bit breathlessly, "Do you think - do you think your aunt will be able to send it?"

"I'll write her today and find out," Calista said, "Perhaps I should ask for a translation book, too - I don't think my father has one for Scottish Gaelic, and I don't remember ever having seen one at the library."

"I have," Gerald said, "Not here - in a Muggle library, in London. I can borrow it while I'm home for Christmas - I'm sure I'll owe fines on it by the time I have a chance to bring it back, but - if it means we can find out…"

"Honestly," Amelia interrupted, looking up from her study table. "You two are as bad as Penny and Percy lately - whispering all secretively over a history book, like it's something that could  _actually_  be exciting - if you two start snogging and congratulating each other on chess strategies too, I'm going to go spare."

Calista felt a rush of heat suddenly flood her face - she stepped quickly away from Gerald, turning her face away under the pretense of returning to peruse the bookshelves along the wall.

"I - erm - that's -" she heard Gerald sputter behind her, "That looks suspiciously like you're copying someone's Arithmancy homework!"

"Just the formulas," Amelia said, innocently.

"Really? Because it  _looks_  like you're copying the diagrams as well."

"No way," Amelia said, in a tone that Calista knew meant she was doing exactly that, "That would be cheating. How would I ever learn?"

Once she felt her cheeks cool, Calista turned again to face her friends; she'd been expecting Gerald to be hunched over the book again, but when she met his gaze, it appeared to be on her, instead - she was suddenly quite glad that she'd waited until her blush had faded to turn around.

"Can I borrow a quill and some parchment?" she asked, addressing neither of them in particular, "I'm going to write my aunt now, I think."

"Of course," Gerald said quickly, setting the book down on top of the pile he'd hauled up from the library. "Let me go get some."

"Here," Amelia said, grabbing a spare sheet from the table she was working at, and holding it out, along with one of her funny cylindrical writing implements. "Take these."

Calista took the parchment, but wrinkled her nose suspiciously at narrow not-quill. "I'll just take this," she said, plucking a quill and a pot of ink off the study table. "I don't trust those pen things."

Amelia laughed. "What do you mean, you don't  _trust_  pens? I didn't know they had such an unsavory reputation..."

Calista scowled, lifting Amelia's Arithmancy book off the other chair, and setting it on the table so she could sit.

"Hey, you're covering the diagrams!" Amelia protested.

"Good," Calista said, "You're not supposed to be copying those anyway."

Out of the corner of her eye, Calista thought she saw Gerald smile. She really hoped he wasn't laughing at her about the pens.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

On Wednesday evening, when Calista entered the library for her Prefect patrol, Gerald was waiting for her with a stack of papers in his hands.

"Are those your runes notes?" she wondered, and he shook his head.

"I wish they were," he said, "No - they're flyers for the Dueling Club that evidently starts tomorrow. Apparently the Head Boy duties now include sticking them up all around the school."

"Dueling club? Really?"

"Well, don't get too excited," Gerald warned, "Lockhart's running it. He stopped me on my way here and told me all about it, before tasking me with hanging all the flyers."

Calista wrinkled her nose. "Lockhart? I think a well-constructed sandwich could probably best him in a duel."

Gerald made a funny sound, something almost like a snort - it devolved, momentarily, into a laugh that made his shoulders shake.

"Sorry," Gerald said after a minute, and for once,  _he_  was the one with colour rising to his cheeks. "I, erm - didn't mean to make that sound. Just… the visual, you know?"

Calista smirked, feeling suddenly quite pleased with herself. "Would you like help putting those up?" she asked, after a moment.

"Actually, that would be nice, if you don't mind." He handed her roughly half the stack. She pursed her lips, examining the flyer.

"Well," she said, thoughtfully, "At least he didn't sign them all."

Gerald grinned. "I think he may have been about to - asked me if I had a quill handy. I had one in my pocket, but I lied and said I didn't."

She followed him out of the library, grateful that he didn't suggest they split up to post the flyers - she would have had to admit that her father didn't want her roaming the corridors by herself at night. Instead, they traced a route through the castle, one of them often a pace or two behind the other, but sometimes walking side by side, sticking the flyers up in high-traffic areas.

"Will you go?" Gerald asked, when they were only a few steps removed from the library.

Calista hesitated. "I don't know. I probably shouldn't."

He glanced back at her and frowned. "Why not?"

"Do you remember what happened last year? I really don't think dueling another Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher would work out well for my social life."

"I suppose that's fair," Gerald said. "I'm sure you wouldn't have to duel a professor again, though - probably just another student."

They had reached a staircase; she took a flyer off the stack, and used a Sticking Charm to post it on the wall next to the bottom landing.

"I don't know if I want to do that, either," she admitted quietly. Gerald had already gone up two steps, so when he turned around to look at her, she had to look up to meet his gaze.

"I'm pretty confident you could -" he started, and then he frowned, softly. "I'm sorry. It's none of my business if you don't want to go."

"It's not that I don't  _want_  to, it's just..." she sighed, and glanced around, even though she already knew the staircase, and the corridor behind them, were quite deserted save for them. "I don't always - uhm, react well - to having a wand pointed at me. Because of… I mean, I'm working on it, but -"

She shook her head, scowling, suddenly awash with shame. "Never mind. I just - I just don't think I should go."

Gerald came slowly down one stair, and then the other, so he was on the bottom landing with her; they was suddenly quite as close as they had been a few days earlier, in the Ravenclaw common room.

"Calista," he said, very quietly. "I completely understand, and you have absolutely no reason to feel ashamed. I hope you realise that."

"Well,  _that's_  not true," she muttered, and she wasn't even sure if it was her confession or the fact that he was standing so close that made her feel suddenly nervous and self-conscious.

"Close-range," he murmured, so softly it was barely audible. "I can't have - he used to come up close and pretend he was  patting me on the back, or - or leaning in to say something. Then I'd feel the tip of his wand, between my ribs or against my back, and I knew - something bad was coming. I can't stand being poked, or having someone's wand touch me -"

She dared to look him in the eyes; behind his glasses, they were warm, and in that moment, vulnerable. She thought she could see, just for an instant, the ghost of the fear that he was describing, and just like before, she experienced a sudden, powerful urge to reach out, to find some way to comfort him - and this time, perhaps because she was feeling rather the same way herself, or perhaps just because there was less physical distance between him, she did.

She reached her hand up, slowly, and set it carefully on his shoulder, palm flat. He inhaled audibly, and she felt his shoulder stiffen for an instant - and then, he seemed to relax, and the flash of fear retreated. She let her fingers curl, briefly, in a gentle squeeze she hoped would come across as reassuring.

"We should - the flyers," Gerald said, after a moment, dropping his gaze. She nodded, and lifted her hand from his shoulder. He exhaled, and then began up the stairs again. She followed, watched silently as he stuck a flyer up at the top of the landing; she saw his fingers tremble, just slightly, as she drew up behind him.

"I - for me, it was her eyes," she said, softly, at his shoulder, as his hands smoothed over the corners, pressing them tightly against the stone wall, even though there was no need to; his Sticking Charm had hung the flyer quite securely. "This look she got. That's how I could tell when it was going to be bad."

He half-turned, and looked at her, and they shared another glance - brief, but powerful. There was a question in his eyes, and even though it was unspoken, she understood it. She nodded, and he swallowed, and then, just as softly and carefully as she had done a moment ago, he reached out and touched her shoulder, offering a small gesture of stilted comfort - and a reminder that wherever they had each gone in their heads, for a moment - it was in the past.

"I'll go," she said, quietly but decisively, with his hand cupped over her shoulder. "I'll go to the Dueling Club."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

The next evening, Calista met her friends at the library, and together they went to the Great Hall about a quarter of an hour before the Dueling Club was meant to start. Though the great wooden doors were still shut, a sizeable crowd was already gathered in the corridor.

From her place at the fringe of the crowd, she felt a familiar hand settle on her shoulder, and she looked just slightly up into her father's face.

"Do you want to be part of the demonstration?" he asked her, quietly, so that no one but she would hear; she shook her head quickly, vehemently.

Severus nodded, as if he had been expecting her answer. "Stay near my end of the room," he said, still low enough to keep their conversation private. "I'll make sure you're not."

"Your end - then  _you're_  teaching us, instead of Lockhart?" she asked, a bit louder than he had been.

"We will both demonstrate," Severus sneered softly, lifting his hand from Calista's shoulder. "Though I daresay only one of us will teach you anything."

He cut a path through the crowd of students to the doors of the Great Hall; Calista noticed that everyone was quite eager to leap out of his way.

"Oh, that's excellent," Gerald said, from Calista's other side, "This may turn out to be educational, after all." He turned his head, to tell a few other Ravenclaws that were nearby.

A few moments later, the doors were opened, and students began to stream in. The dining tables had vanished, and a long, golden stage occupied the space along one wall. Calista spied her father standing near one end of the stage, and made a beeline for that side of the room.

She stood in a cluster with Penny, Percy, Amelia, Gerald, and a few of the other Ravenclaws that had been standing near them in the corridor; soon, as the rest of the students filled the room, their side of the room was crowded with older Slytherins, who had also chosen to stand at the end closest to their Head of House.

Calista noticed Marcus only a few paces away, with his arm wrapped tightly around Hecate Rowle's waist; she made an art form of not looking at them, even when she thought she saw Marcus' head turn towards where she stood with her friends.

A sigh of relief escaped her when Endria Folland shifted nearer to their group, and effectively blocked Marcus from her line of sight.

"Hey Gerry, hey Calista," she said. Her gaze flicked to Amelia, and she smirked. "Hey, Amelia. Did I get it right, this time?"

Amelia nodded, and mirrored Endria's smirk. "Took you long enough. It's not that hard."

"Still having fun playing with yourself?" Endria asked quietly, with a grin that was somewhere between playful and superior.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Amelia said coolly, but Calista noticed her cheeks turning slightly pink.

"Wouldn't've asked if I didn't," Endria shot back.

Calista opened her mouth, about to ask Endria to stop giving Amelia a hard time - but Amelia recovered, and quirked a sly smile at the older girl.

"Guess you don't need to resort to that - I'm sure they don't call you Head Girl for nothing."

Endria's cheeks flushed with colour too, and she flashed a brief grin. Calista had the distinct impression that there was something she was missing - she looked around at her other friends to see if they looked as confused as she felt, but Penny and Percy were whispering to each other, and Gerald -

Gerald was glaring at someone with his jaw firmly set. Calista had a sinking feeling she knew precisely who that someone was - she shifted, tilting her neck so she could follow his gaze, and her suspicions were immediately proven to be true.

Marcus was scowling at Gerald with intense, undisguised hatred - it was an ugly and startling look that she wasn't used to seeing on him, and it made her skin crawl. Hecate was pouting and tugging at his shoulder, but even though he still had an arm around her, he didn't even seem to really notice her. In that instant, Calista was at a complete loss as to how to align this version of Marcus with the one that she had known, the past several years. It was hard to imagine, when faced with this Marcus, that she had ever found the prospect of kissing him enjoyable.

"Gerald?" Calista said quietly, and she reached tentatively to touch his hand. He turned to her, and even though his expression softened some, she still sensed that he was on edge. "Ignore him, please," she whispered. "He won't - he'd better not - start anything."

As if to undermine Calista's declaration, though he couldn't have possibly heard it, Marcus narrowed his eyes, and made an extremely rude hand gesture towards Gerald; to his credit, Gerald didn't react, except to set his jaw firmly again, and look pointedly past Marcus at the stage.

Lockhart and Severus were walking out onto the stage now. The murmur of voices died down, as Lockhart waved his arm for silence.

"Gather round, gather round!" Lockhart said grandly, even though they already  _were_  gathered. "Can everyone see me? Can you all hear me?"

"Unfortunately," Calista muttered.

She nearly lost it when Lockhart introduced her father as his 'assistant' - and then he continued, "He tells me he knows a tiny little bit about dueling himself and has sportingly agreed to help me with a short demonstration before we begin. Now, I don't want any of you youngsters to worry - you'll still have your Potions master when I'm through with him, never fear!"

Calista's gaze flicked to her father's face; she knew that expression well. She smirked softly. When her father was done with Lockhart, he'd wish he  _had_  brought up a sandwich to help him demonstrate.

They raised their wands - it was over very fast. Lockhart's bow took longer than it took Snape to disarm him. Calista grinned; many of the other Slytherins nearby cheered audibly.

A young-looking Gryffindor girl passed Lockhart back his wand, as he got unsteadily to his feet and hastily told the crowd that he'd allowed Severus to disarm him deliberately, for the demonstration. "If I had wanted to stop you," Lockhart was saying, "It would have been only too easy - however, I felt it would be instructive to let them see -"

Severus' glare was dangerous enough that even Calista would have backed down from it. Lockhart must have noticed just in time - he stepped back several paces and changed tacks.

"Enough demonstrating! I'm going to come amongst you now and put you all into pairs. Professor Snape, if you'd like to help me -"

Severus stepped down from the stage, and began where Calista stood - the first pairing he made was her and Amelia, and then he matched Endria up with Hecate, before moving along to the other end of the crowd.

"I don't really want to do this," Calista said quietly, to Amelia, and to her relief, Amelia shook her head, too.

"Neither do I," Amelia said, gaze swiveling towards where Endria and Hecate were squaring off, "I'd rather watch."

Calista's eyes followed her father - she blinked, noticing that he was pairing Draco with a boy in Gryffindor robes. Then she realised that boy was none other than Harry Potter, and she felt a nervous tingle in her gut. She hoped Severus knew what he was doing; if Draco lost publicly to Harry Potter, he'd never live it down. Her heart went out to her cousin, even though their relationship had been somewhat strained in the past several weeks. She hoped he would come out on top.

She was concentrating so hard on mentally wishing Draco luck, that she didn't notice Lockhart in their section of the crowd until it was too late.

"Ah, Mr. Boot - why don't you partner Mr. Flint here? It seems he hasn't been paired up yet."

Calista blinked. "Uh, Professor, I don't think that's a good -" she started to say, but Lockhart was already away with a swish of his deep purple robes, and Marcus was already facing Gerald from a few paces away, fist curled tightly around his wand, grimacing threateningly.

"Face your partners!" Lockhart called, climbing back onto the stage, "And bow!"

Gerald jerked his head slightly; Marcus did nothing, except tighten his grip on his wand.

"Wands at the ready!" Lockhart was saying, as Calista slipped her hand into her pocket, curling her fingers around her own wand, in case she had to intervene - it wouldn't be allowed, by the rules of any duel, but in that moment, she didn't care. "When I count to three, cast your charms to Disarm your opponents -  _only_  to disarm them - we don't want any accidents - one...two…"

Marcus started on two; he slashed his wand through the air, using one of the very same spells that he had seen Calista use, last year, on Quirrell.

" _Affligo!_ " he growled, and Calista pulled her wand from her pocket -

She needn't have bothered; despite Marcus' early start, Gerald was ready. He flicked his wrist with a confident, practised motion.

" _Protego!_ "

Marcus' spell was deflected back to him, hitting him square in the chest as accurately as if Gerald had been the one to cast it; he stumbled back, crashing against the side of the stage.

" _Expelliarmus!_ " Gerald said, swiftly, before Marcus had a chance to recover, and Marcus' wand flew out of his hand; Gerald caught it easily.

Calista breathed a sigh of relief, as Gerald held Marcus' wand out for him; Marcus reached out, to snatch it back -

She realised, belatedly, that her relief had come too early; in a blur of motion, Marcus swung his arm, aiming for Gerald's face instead of his own wand - there was an awful sound as his fist connected -

Calista aimed her wand at Marcus, and used the first spell that came into her head - the one that she'd been researching for nearly two hours, between dinner and meeting for the dueling club.

" _Immobulus!_ "

Frantically, she wondered why she'd cast a Freezing Charm of all things; that wouldn't work on a human, she knew that..

Except, unbelievably, it  _had_. Marcus was frozen in place, with one fist clenching Gerald's robes, and the other raised, as if to land another blow.

Lockhart was yelling something; around her, there was a lot of greenish smoke, and it looked as if quite a few people had sustained injuries. Hecate Rowle was shaking like a leaf and scrabbling after her wand as it rolled along the floor.

"Gerald, are you all right?" she asked, worried, as he gingerly extracted himself from Marcus' grip. "I'm sorry I wasn't faster - I didn't think he would -"

Gerald's nose was bleeding profusely; she stepped closer to him, intending to take a look, but then her father's voice roared over the hum of the crowd.

" _Finite Incantatem!_ "

Released from the Freezing Charm, Marcus lurched forward - and Calista slipped into the narrow space between him and Gerald, pointing her wand up at him; he dropped his arm awkwardly, and stumbled, righting himself and looking more than a little confused.

" _You will leave my friend alone_ ," Calista hissed, her wand only centimetres from Marcus' face, "Or I will  _mak_ e you - and next time, it  _won't_  be a Freezing Charm."

Even though Marcus was over a head taller than Calista, and even though he probably weighed easily three times what she did, mostly in muscle - he stepped back, practically cowering from her, eyes going wide with fear.

" _Yes_ ," she continued, hearing a forceful quaver in her voice, "I see you recall what I'm capable of - don't  _ever_  touch him again, or I'll remind you. Oh - and consider my offer to be friends officially rescinded."

Lockhart was scrambling through the crowd now, robes fluttering in his wake, offering advice but very little help.

He glanced past Calista, and frowned. "Pinch it hard, it'll stop bleeding in a second, Boot -" he said, before scurrying unhelpfully off.

As soon as she was satisfied that Marcus had slunk away - without his wand, no less, since she noticed it on the floor by her feet, Gerald must have dropped it - she whirled to face Gerald, examining his face with concern. His glasses were balanced a bit crookedly, but at least they weren't broken - his nose was still bleeding, dripping onto his robes despite his best efforts to catch the majority of it with his sleeve.

"Ah - definitely  _don't_  pinch it," she said quietly, "I think it's broken."

She was quite close to him; she lifted her wand, and he flinched; she remembered, suddenly, what he had told her the night before, about close-range, and she lowered it again, reaching for his shoulder with her free hand.

"I can fix it," she said, squeezing his shoulder gently; this, or maybe her carefully controlled voice, seemed to calm him, some; she felt his shoulders relax. "Is it all right for me to do that?"

"Yeah, dat's -" his voice sounded funny, stuffed up; he nodded, instead.

She took her hand off his shoulder, and reached up, removing his glasses gently so she could get a better look. It was definitely broken, about halfway down the bridge. She pointed her wand at the broken spot.

" _Episkey,"_  she said softly; she could see the bone mending itself, and she nodded, lowering her wand, and holding his glasses out.

He wiggled his nose gingerly, and then reached up and touched it, smearing a little bit of blood on the side of his face as he did so.

"Thanks," he muttered, reaching for his glasses; he looked quickly down, and she could see colour rising in his cheeks. She frowned, and pulled her hand into her sleeve, bringing her hand up, and using the fabric at the edge of her sleeve to dab some of the blood off his face.

Lockhart and her father were both speaking, behind her, up on the stage, but she scarcely heard what was being said - only when she heard "Longbottom" did her ears prick slightly - but then Gerald said something, and her focus was on him.

"You don't have to - I mean, I can manage," he said, but she ignored him and kept going, wiping the majority of the blood away.

"Your robes," Gerald said, after a minute; at least the pink had faded from his cheeks. "They're ruined - I'm sorry."

She glanced down at the edges of her sleeve; where it had been trimmed with green lace, it was now stained darker, and looking decidedly ragged.

"Who cares?" she said, "I don't even really like these ones - and my aunt will just buy me new ones for Christmas, anyway. Are you all right?"

He nodded. "That blasted Flint," he said, "I should have known - usually, I'm ready for stuff like that. I thought, he'd been mostly leaving me alone for a bit…"

"Well," she said, firmly, "He'll leave you alone now."

"Yeah, I - I don't doubt it, after that." he shook his head. "I've never seen him look that - well,  _scared_. I guess Percy was right - you can be pretty fierce."

"Well," she said again, feeling her face heat up, "Only when I need to be. Only for… for people I care about."

Their eyes met again, and then they both looked suddenly down, away. She turned, to face the stage again.

"Calista," Amelia said, tugging at her sleeve, "Isn't that your cousin - oh, ugh, your sleeve's wet - is that  _blood?_ "

She shifted her gaze, and was startled to see that a clearing of sorts had been made in front of the stage, at the center of the hall, and that her cousin was in it, facing none other than Harry Potter. Lockhart stood behind Potter, juggling his wand with a flourish that almost caused him to drop it.

"It's not mine," she said hurriedly to Amelia, "Are you serious - did you really not see -?"

"Did  _I_  see?" Amelia whispered back, "Did  _you_  see Endria wipe the floor with Hecate? It was amazing. I think I'm in love."

Severus leaned over from his place behind Draco, and leaned close to whisper something in his ear. Draco nodded, looking satisfied.

"By the way," Gerald said, leaning close, and speaking into  _her_  ear. "That was without a doubt the most impressive Freezing Charm I've ever seen."

She grinned, and glanced over at him. "Same goes for your Shield Charm. You'll have to show me sometime how you get it to reflect back so accurately."

She saw him smile, looking quite pleased, even as he looked back towards the figures of Draco and Potter at the center of the crowd; Lockhart was speaking again. "Of course," he said, "I'd be happy to."

Potter and Draco were tensed, wands raised.

"Three - two - one - go!" Lockhart shouted.

Draco was much faster than Potter; he waved his wand and yelled, " _Serpensortia!_ "

It was a good choice of spell, Calista thought privately, though the  _tricky_  part wasn't summoning the snake, but controlling it - she watched with apprehension as the long black snake slithered along the floor. Draco should be waving his wand, guiding its actions - but he wasn't.

Severus seemed to expect this, as well as Potter's wide-eyed apprehension as he eyed the snake, taking a half-step back.

"Don't move, Potter," Severus warned, in an unconcerned sort of tone, as the snake rose up, its face level with the boy's. "I'll get rid of it..."

Lockhart hurried forward. "Allow me!" he yelled, and he waved his wand - Calista couldn't hear an incantation, but the snake flew up into the air and landed a short distance away - it advanced on a Hufflepuff second-year, hissing angrily.

"Oh no - I don't think Draco knows how to control it," Calista said, hurrying forward with her wand drawn - but she had barely made it a single step when Harry Potter rounded on the snake, and opened his mouth.

A series of loud, hostile-sounding hisses escaped Potter's mouth; the snake immediately slumped to the floor - Calista couldn't even see it anymore.

Someone - the Hufflepuff boy the snake had been after, she thought - shouted, and stormed out of the hall. Severus stepped forward and quickly vanished the snake.

Murmurs were erupting all around the hall; she saw one of Percy's younger brothers ushering Harry Potter away. She turned back to Gerald, and they exchanged an uncomfortable look.

"Potter's a Parselmouth," she said, dimly.

"There hasn't - I don't think there's been one for - since  _Salazar Slytherin_ himself," Gerald said, looking just as surprised as Calista felt. "Hundreds of - a  _thousand_  years!"

"Yes, there has," Calista said quietly, grimly; for it was the stuff of a dozen of her mother's favourite, horrid bedtime stories. "The - You-Know-Who."


	10. Chapter 10

Calista didn't particularly want to go to the Great Hall at lunch time, but since she had promised to meet Daisy Spratt there and walk her to class, she didn't have much of a choice. By this point, she knew Daisy's schedule as well as she knew her own - she had Care of Magical Creatures in the morning, which had been cancelled since a blizzard was raging outside the castle, and History of Magic after lunch.

"So, erm…" Daisy said, as she and Calista walked out of the Great Hall in the afternoon, "I guess I missed a lot at the dueling club last night, huh? Everyone's talking about it…"

"It was certainly - eventful." Calista tilted her head, recalling who had been there. "I'm surprised you didn't go - nearly everyone did. I didn't see your brother George there either, come to think of it."

"Yeah. Me and George stayed behind in the common room and just kind of - hung out. Talked. We don't normally get to, because people… people make fun of him for hanging out with his baby sister, you know?"

"That's stupid. Let me guess - 'People' is Olivia, isn't it?"

"And Portia. And Hecate. And… other people."

"I know I've told you this before, but you can always go to my dad if they're giving you a hard time, you know. Or me, I just… I just don't know how much of a difference I really make."

Daisy's head jerked up. "Are you mad? You make… you make a  _lot_  of difference. No one steals my clothes anymore, no one hits me or hexes me or pulls my hair - that's all because of you. Gretchen Nott even said a few weeks ago, 'You think you can start trouble with me now just because you can go run crying to Calista Snape' - I wasn't, though, I promise. Starting trouble, I mean."

Calista smiled slightly. "I know that, Daisy. You don't start it - not like I used to, sometimes."

"I wish I could," Daisy admitted, "Be more like - like Gretchen and them. Say… say mean things about other people to take the attention away from me. But I just - I just can't."

Calista paused, in a quiet corner of the corridor, and Daisy did, too, looking up at the older girl attentively.

"Daisy, let me tell you something," Calista said, "I  _have_  done that and it's not nearly as gratifying as you'd think. It took me an embarrassingly long time to realise, the most important person to make like you… well, it's not the popular girl, or… or anyone else, really, it's  _yourself_. And then, you know, the right kinds of friendships just sort of… happen."

"Like you?" Daisy said, hopefully. "You're my - you're my friend, right? You're not just nice to me because you're a Prefect?"

"Is Derek Logan nice to you?" Calista asked skeptically.

"Well… no."

"There you have it then - not a job requirement. Of course I'm your friend, Daisy. Now, we'd better get going, it would be very un-Prefect-like of me to drop you off late for class."

"It's hard, being in Slytherin," Daisy said, looking up at her still, as they set off again. "I kind of wish I'd known - I might not have picked it."

"You… you  _chose_  Slytherin?"

She could see Daisy nodding off to her side.

"I wanted to be with my brother," she admitted, quietly. "I was scared. The Hat wanted - the Hat wanted to put me in Hufflepuff."

Calista blinked, again. "Huff - really? And you chose  _Slytherin_?" she shook her head, "Maybe it should've stuck you in Gryffindor, just for that."

Daisy grinned. "That's what George always says, too. But you can't switch, once it's been chosen. I asked Professor Dumbledore last year. He said - he said the Hat's never wrong. Even when it lets you choose."

"Well," Calista said, her own thoughts running away, as they drew up to the History of Magic classroom, "For what it's worth, I'm personally glad we have you in Slytherin."

Daisy positively beamed. "Thanks, Calista. That… makes me really happy."

She nodded, and then set a quick pace for the Charms classroom, where she was scheduled for tutoring. She couldn't help but wonder… if someone like Daisy could end up in Slytherin just by asking…

How different would things be for her, now, if she'd known back then to ask for Ravenclaw? What if she'd never had to deal with Olivia's bullying? Would she and Amelia have been friends even longer? Would she have still started dating Marcus? But no - if she'd been in Ravenclaw, she probably would have seen the way he treated Gerald, and she never could have fallen for him then...

She started, as distant shouting echoed - at least a floor down, she judged. She couldn't make out the words, but there was a rush, then, of sounds from downstairs; doors slamming against walls, students shouting and running -

She curled her fingers around her wand, and hesitated; she was a Prefect - she should go see what was going on, she knew it - but she  _wasn't_  a Gryffindor, and the flutter of fear started in her chest…

Instead of running downstairs, Calista dashed down the corridor to the Charms classroom, where she was supposed to be.

"Professor Flitwick," she said, nearly shouting from the doorway, "I think you'd better come - something's happening downstairs -"

In an instant, faster than she thought he could move, Professor Flitwick had rounded his desk and was rushing down the hall. Gerald followed him out, with an alarmed glance to Calista.

"Calista, what's happening?" he asked, urgently.

"I don't know," she said, "There was shouting, and - I heard doors slamming. People running. I didn't check - I thought I'd better just get a Professor as quickly as possible."

"I hope it's not another attack," Gerald said grimly, as they followed Professor Flitwick down the stairs.

There was a massive crowd in the corridor downstairs. There was panic, as Flitwick pushed his way through the crowd towards where several other Professors were gathered. She saw Professor McGonagall, who suddenly raised her wand into the air and fired off a loud bang.

Calista flinched, and she saw, out of the corner of her eye, that Gerald did, too. She reached her hand out, intending to touch his arm, in a gesture of comfort - and met his, reaching towards her, evidently with the same thing in mind.

For a brief second, they held hands, both squeezing reassuringly, as if it were the most natural, ordinary thing for them to do; they let go as an accusing shout rent the air, somewhere in the crowd ahead.

" _Caught in the act!_ " someone yelled; Calista thought they sounded youngish, but she couldn't see who it was.

There was more shouting, and then suddenly Peeves was overhead, grinning wickedly, and singing an awful song.

" _Oh Potter, you rotter, oh what have you done? You're killing off students, you think it's good fun -"_

Professor McGonagall barked at Peeves, who zoomed away - Calista's mouth dropped open in horror.  _Killing_? That didn't mean - that couldn't mean -

She remembered something her father had said, the very first time she'd asked him about the Chamber of Secrets.

_Something happened many years ago that was attributed to the Chamber - some sort of attack on a student, that resulted in her death._

Professor Flitwick and Professor Sinistra came through the crowd then, carrying the stiff form of a youngish boy in Hufflepuff robes - Calista realised it was the same one that had nearly been attacked by the snake the night before, at the dueling club - the snake that Harry Potter had been able to speak to.

Gerald leapt into action, directing students to clear the corridor to allow the professors through, and Calista glimpsed, through the clearing, what appeared to be the Gryffindor House Ghost - but he looked wrong, all wrong - he was floating horizontally, and was completely  _black_ \- what the  _hell_  had happened?

"He - the student," Gerald said, quietly, appearing at her side again. "He's not - I asked Flitwick. He's Petrified, like the other boy."

She exhaled. "We - we have to figure out who's doing this."

Gerald nodded, grimly. "Let's get everyone back to their common rooms for now," he said, "I have a feeling the rest of today's classes will be cancelled."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

It was a grim weekend overall; Calista and her father were both tense throughout their morning Occlumency lesson, which made it all seem even more exhausting than usual.

Lately, Calista had begun to look forward to weekends in a way that she never had before. On Friday afternoons, she had Charms Tutoring, which was often rewarding, now that the younger students had mostly forgotten to be afraid of her because of last year's incident with Quirrell, and after that she had her independent study period with Flitwick - a prospect that was enjoyable enough on its own, but was doubly so because Gerald was in the same class, and they often worked together.

Saturdays, she had Occlumency lessons, and though that always entailed an exaggerated round of complaining that she had to be there, the truth was that she did enjoy the challenge, most of the time - and she enjoyed spending the mornings with her father almost as often.

The weekends were also when she saw the most of Gerald - besides their Charms tutoring and study period on Friday afternoons, they also met on Saturdays to study for the Poisons and Antidotes exam, and they had their additional Prefect patrols together on Saturday and Sunday evenings.

The weekend after the double attack on the Hufflepuff second year and the Gryffindor ghost, neither Calista nor Gerald felt like working on their independent projects; instead, the two of them spent the majority of the weekend hunched over separate books with an endless stack and a sense of frantic urgency between them.

More than once, they remarked how desperately they were awaiting the volume that Calista had written her aunt to ask for as her Christmas present. Gerald even considered aloud the option of cancelling his plans to go home for Christmas, but Calista reminded him that they needed the translation book he had seen in the Muggle library near where he lived - besides, he was supposed to bring his brother home from King's Cross, and it was too late to write home to his mother and make new plans.

"We do know more than we did before," Calista pointed out, sometime after the regular curfew had passed on Sunday night; they were making a quick check of the corridors every hour or so, but spent most of the time huddled at the study table closest to the Restricted section. "We know that whoever or whatever is carrying out the attacks, it's  _not_  limited to attacking only at night. That eliminates a host of Dark creatures…"

"That's true, I suppose."

"The daytime attack  _doesn't_  eliminate creatures that are harmed by sunlight though, I suppose," Calista mused, continuing, "There was no chance of the sun breaking through the cover of that all that snow - and the corridor did seem quite dark. Did the torches go out?"

"I think they did. Still… we can eliminate a shade, or a ghoul…"

"Which is unfortunate, because a shade was probably our best guess until this point," Calista sighed. "What if - what if it's not a creature at all? What if it  _is_  a person?"

"You don't really believe it's a student?" Gerald asked, glancing up; both of them had agreed weeks ago this didn't seem likely, despite all the rumours - after all, what  _student_  would be able to Petrify their victims so thoroughly that even Professor Dumbledore couldn't restore them without the Mandrake Draught?

"No, I don't. It's terrible to think of, but - what about a Professor?"

"A  _Professor_? Calista, that can't be - I mean, the ones that have been here would never, and - and Lockhart hasn't got the brains."

"Quirrell seemed like he was afraid of his own shadow, but  _he_  turned out to be - erm, willing to attack students," she caught herself before letting slip that Quirrell had been working for the Dark Lord, in case it wasn't common knowledge, " _And_ he was teaching here for years without incident."

Gerald frowned. "I suppose - well, I suppose we can't rule anyone out then," he said, reluctantly. "Except Professor Dumbledore, of course."

"And my dad," Calista said quickly; for a moment she was afraid Gerald might argue, but he nodded in agreement.

"I don't think it could be any of the Heads of Houses," Gerald said, "They all seem far too concerned with keeping the students safe. What if it's someone else? Not a student  _or_  a professor?"

Calista wrinkled her nose. "Who, then? You think a staff member - Filch, or Hagrid, or someone?"

"I suppose we have to consider the possibility, as horrible as it is. Or - what if there's someone  _hiding_  in the castle who isn't meant to be here? A - a criminal, maybe even an escaped fugitive -

He stopped speaking, or else the ringing in Calista's ears grew loud enough to drown his voice out; she saw a series of terrifying images in her mind: the tall, imposing walls of Azkaban, broken open - the black-and-white image of her mother that had accompanied the article about her arrest - and then the manic grin, the deranged gleam; and suddenly they weren't black and white anymore - she was seeing a more vivid image, one of flesh and blood - those mad grey eyes looming over her, pain as someone gripped her arm, pulling her along somewhere she knew she didn't want to go -

"Calista! Calista, I'm so sorry - please, are you all right?"

She realised with a start that it wasn't - of course it wasn't - her mother gripping her arm. It was Gerald, and it wasn't actually tight or painful - nor was he above her.

The horrifying image started to fade - she wrestled it, pushed it somewhere far, far down in her mind, away from the surface, and concentrated on what was  _real_ , in that moment. She was sitting in a chair in the library at Hogwarts, with a sizeable stack of books on the table beside her. Gerald was crouched on the floor beside her chair, with one hand laid gently against her arm, and the other holding onto her hand; he was looking up at her, brow furrowed and brown eyes wide with concern behind his glasses, and he was apologising profusely.

"I'm so sorry, I'm such an idiot - I wasn't thinking, I didn't mean -"

"It's okay," she managed, hating that there was an audible quaver in her voice when it came out. "It's not - she's not -"

"No," Gerald said quietly, but firmly, "No, of course not. No one's ever broken out of there, and no one ever will. It was a stupid thing to say. I'm so sorry, Calista."

She swallowed. "Forget it," she said, gathering up the dregs of fear and pain that were still floating about the surface of her mind, that had surfaced along with the fragment of memory. "It's not your fault. I'm fine."

She forced the gathered pricks and flashes of fear down, far down where she'd banished the memory - and then, she tried to do the same with her embarrassment, the rush of shame that was suddenly making her cheeks and her forehead hot, concentrated on clearing it away, on adopting a carefully blank expression.

Gerald's concerned expression flashed, for a second, to a puzzled, questioning sort of look, but as quickly as she'd seen it go, the concern was back and then he was rising slowly to his feet, still holding her hand. He shifted his other hand higher up her arm, to her shoulder.

"Are you certain? I can bring you to the hospital wing, or your father's office -"

" _No_. I'm fine, really. I don't - I really want to just forget about the whole thing. Can we talk about something else?"

"Of course," he said, nodding and gently releasing her hand; for a second, she felt a flicker of sadness - she supposed a remnant of her horrifying flashback must have resurfaced. She put her hand quickly into her pocket, unsure, suddenly, what else to do with it. "If you're certain you're all right."

"Yes," she said, quickly and firmly. "I'm  _fine_."

"Well...what do you want to - oh, I know."

He lifted his hand from her shoulder, and took a couple of steps back. "I forgot to tell you, what with the dueling club and… and everything else…"

She looked over at him, hoping desperately for some sort of distraction. Despite her insistence that everything was fine, she still felt a little off; hollow, perhaps, was the word.

"Let me just make sure Madam Pince isn't around. You know how she hates magic in the library."

He took a quick walk around the library's perimeter, then stopped a few paces away from her, facing the back wall of the library. He withdrew his wand from his pocket, and lifted it; she noticed that he made sure not to look at any point like he might point it in her direction.

" _Expecto Patronum!_ " he said, and a beautiful, silvery form burst out of the tip of his wand. It took the shape of an owl, and began to beat its wings, flying in a circle overhead.

Calista felt herself smiling faintly, after all. Somehow, it was hard to feel sad with the bright figure of the owl nearby.

"That's brilliant, Gerald," she said, and it occurred to her that it was perhaps the happiest she could ever remember feeling for someone  _else_ 's accomplishment. "It's very good. Very clear."

"Thank you." He pushed his glasses up his nose, eyeing her carefully. "Are you certain you're -"

She scowled, interrupting. "Don't even  _think_  of asking me again if I'm all right, or I'll -"

She paused; this was normally the point where she would threaten to hex someone, but she couldn't say that to Gerald.

"I'll shout at you," she finished, lamely.

Gerald chuckled. "All right, fair enough. I suppose we should take a pass through the corridors again."

She nodded, pleased to have a focused task, and followed him out of the library.

As they walked, she drew level with him, and they talked - for a few brief moments, not about either of their research projects, or about the Chamber of Secrets, or about any of their past horrors; instead, they just chatted, about homework, and books, and even their pets, Gerald's owl and her cat.

It felt so nice, so normal, after the heaviness of the past few days, and in spite of everything, Calista felt a growing glow of happiness inside her so vividly that she actually had to check and see if the Patronus was following them somehow; it wasn't.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Once term ended, Calista had her dormitory room to herself - and she and Draco nearly had all of the Slytherin dungeon to themselves. His friends Gregory and Vincent had stayed on over Christmas break too, but apart from a handful of fourth year boys, they were the only other ones.

She had a nightmare, the night of Christmas Eve; a long, convoluted dream that shifted between the mundane - arriving in class without any of her books, Olivia cornering her in the lavatory to tease her - to the truly terrifying. She dreamed, again, of dueling Quirrell, and at the end he shifted into Bellatrix, who was inexplicably wielding a knife instead of a wand; still, her mother's face was vague, indistinct in the dream, and Calista never saw her her eyes.

When she woke, it was to the same dim half-light that, in the depths of the dungeon room, could indicate any time between early morning and early evening. She sat up, forcing herself to replay the worst elements of her dream, to analyse them, and the surface of her mind, for anything that could be indicative of a legilimency-fueled attack - even though she didn't find anything at all that felt threatening, she still shuddered when she remembered the knife, though she couldn't say why; after all, her mother wouldn't be able to curse her with  _that_ …

She scrambled out of bed, whispering an apology to Yellow as she stumbled over him in the near-dark, and felt in the pocket of the robes she'd been wearing the night before for her wand, aiming it at the lamp.

The room brightened instantly; she blinked several times as her eyes adjusted. There was an impressive stack of presents and letters at the end of her bed - perhaps the largest one she'd ever received. She practically leapt over to it, digging through for any parcels that felt like they might contain a book.

She had several spellbooks from her father, and one that had Amelia's handwriting on the wrapping. She set those carefully aside to examine later; even in her haste to discover whether her aunt had sent her the  _Diomhaireachdan de Caisteal_  book, she remembered to be careful with the others.

There were two more books - one at the bottom of the pile, and one that had another, smaller package taped to it. Both had attached letters; the one with the attached package was in Gerald's writing, and the other one was addressed to her in a rigid, unfamiliar hand. She set that one aside, and opened Gerald's letter.

_Dear Calista,_

_I hope you have a Happy Christmas - say hello to Penny and Percy for me, I heard they decided to stay on at the last minute. I wish I could have stayed, but at least the three of you will be able to help the professors keep order if need be._

_Your Christmas present is the book; it's one of my favourites on runes, and I'm confident you won't already have a copy of this one. I knew what I was going to get for you for ages, but I had to wait until I was back in a place with Muggle bookstores to pick it up._

_The other parcel isn't really a present; it's more of an apology. I still feel absolutely terrible for upsetting you the other night in the library. I hope the biscuits are still fresh when you get them - I baked them as close to Christmas Day as I could and still have them arrive on time. It's something I get from my mum, I suppose; she always cooks when anyone's upset. I hope you enjoy them._

_Stay safe._

_Sincerely,_

_Gerald C. Boot_

She set the letter down and opened the top package; it was an assortment of homemade biscuits, and they smelled wonderful. She picked one up that smelled like cinnamon and took an experimental nibble; it tasted fantastic, even to her, and she didn't normally care much for sweets. Besides cinnamon, she tasted nutmeg and ginger. She popped the rest of the biscuit into her mouth while she unwrapped the book.

It was a fairly thin volume, for a book on runes. She turned the book over; there was some sort of strange pattern in the corner of the back cover, a series of black lines of varying thicknesses with a number underneath. She wrinkled her nose curiously, wondering if it was part of the book; if so, Gerald was right, Muggles  _did_  have different runes.

She opened the cover, and went immediately to the index - this, at least, looked familiar. She would have to give it a more in-depth viewing later, perhaps after the Christmas feast.

She reached for the letter in an unfamiliar hand next, and opened it. Her brow furrowed when she noticed the closing of the letter - it was from her Uncle Lucius. He had  _never_  written her a letter, not since she'd met him; it was always Narcissa who wrote to her. She read the letter quickly.

_Calista,_

_Narcissa passed on your request for the Slytherin manuscript. I will tell you the same thing I told Draco, when he wrote to ask me for more information on the happenings at your school: keep your head down, and do not get involved._

_I understand your eagerness to contribute where you can. You must realise, however, that this could create a situation for our family that would be awkward at best. Trust that things will happen as they should, and do not seek any further information; your interest may be misinterpreted._

_I have selected another book for you that is more appropriate. I trust you will enjoy it._

_Narcissa asks me to send her love to you._

_Signed,_

_Lucius_

Her heart sank as she read the letter; when she unwrapped the book, it hardened into what felt like a rock, in the pit of her stomach.

It was a book she had never seen before; it seemed old and, probably, quite rare. Foiled silver letters were stamped into the black leather cover, reading  _High Glories of the Auld Families_. She turned to the index, and scowled. It appeared to be an encyclopaedia of various achievements of historical witches and wizards through the ages - but, as she was quickly able to discern from the index,  _only_  of pure-blooded witches and wizards.

She snatched the book up, and took it over to her wardrobe. She stuck the book on the bottom, with the least interesting of her old textbooks from prior years, and then shut the wardrobe door with rather more force than was necessary.

She sighed heavily; she and Gerald had hoped that Slytherin's book, the one they'd asked for, would lead them to the answer, would help them learn precisely  _what_  was attacking students, so it could be stopped. Instead, they were right back where they'd begun. She supposed she'd better write Gerald later, and tell him not to bother borrowing the Scottish Gaelic translation book from the library.

Something else was bothering her, as she went through the rest of her presents, and later, as she dressed, knowing her father would come looking for her if she attempted to skip the feast. Something that Marcus had said, shortly after they'd broken up - something she'd thought little of, until, suddenly, upon opening the cover of the book that her uncle had sent, the words had slithered back into her brain like a snake, winding around her thoughts and sending a nasty little hiss of memory through her mind.

 _Your family would never let you be with a half-blood_.

She told herself firmly, as she pulled a comb roughly through her hair, that it was purely and simply the reminder of her uncle's unrelenting prejudice that had upset her so. It certainly had nothing to do with any particular half-blood he might object to; there was, of course, no one at all that she wanted, right now, to ' _be with'_.

She scowled as she hit a tangle in her hair, and threw the comb on top of her bed; who even cared what she looked like today?

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

She ate just enough at the feast to prevent her father from worrying, and tried not to appear as angry and disappointed as she felt.

Draco spent the entirety of the feast taking cracks at the Potter boy about the lumpy, oversized jumper he was wearing; she supposed as a Prefect, she probably ought to have told him to stop, but it was hardly offensive, and besides - it wasn't as if Potter didn't give plenty of it back to Draco, from what she had heard.

She glanced past Draco at the Gryffindor table, recalling the events at the Dueling Club. Potter had definitely  _seemed_  like he was speaking Parseltongue, but what if he hadn't, truly? It wasn't as though anyone else would have been able to understand. What if it  _hadn't_  been genuine Parseltongue, but only some sort of publicity stunt? She had heard a rumour from Draco earlier in the school year that Potter and Lockhart were handing out signed photographs together… could his little demonstration been a similar plea for attention?

The only fault with that logic was that the snake  _had_  seemed to respond to it - and she'd been paying attention, afraid that she would need to intervene and attempt to get the snake under control, so she rather thought she would have noticed if Potter - or one of his friends - had turned their wand on the snake and controlled it that way. Besides, they, like Draco, were only in second year. Draco evidently didn't know how to control the snake was summoned, and she didn't suppose any second year could if  _he_  couldn't; he was quite precocious.

She narrowed her eyes, as an exchange between Percy's brothers caught her attention. They were sniggering at something, and then his younger sister, as well as Potter and his friends, were joining in as well. Percy frowned, looking puzzled, and one of the twins pressed a fist against his own mouth, trying to suppress a grin that Calista could see from here; she saw his wand twitch.

"I've told you, Goyle, Calista doesn't care about your rubbish potion," Draco was saying, sounding annoyed; Calista blinked at the sound of her own name, and looked at her cousin.

"Sorry, what?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Precisely. Don't worry, you haven't missed anything important; just Goyle prattling on about how he managed to get through an entire Potions class without blowing his  _own_  cauldron up."

"Someone threw a firework in it," Draco's friend Gregory chimed in; she had the feeling he was repeating himself. "And my Swelling Solution splashed everywhere, but it was good, 'cause the potion worked. Draco's nose got like this -"

He demonstrated miming a huge, bulbous nose, and then pretending to have it weigh his head down.

"Yes, yes," Draco said, witheringly, "And your eyes grew to the size of serving platters, and yet you're still too blind to realise that  _no one cares_  about your little story. A Swelling Solution isn't hard, Goyle."

"I heard about that explosion," Calista said, "It was a Gryffindor who threw it, wasn't it?"

"I'm nearly certain it was that blasted Potter," Draco said, "Which explains why no one was punished - he's Dumbledore's favourite, you know; he  _never_  gets punished."

"Well, if my dad can ever  _prove_  who it was…"

Draco waved his hand, dismissively. "He won't be expelled; not as long as that fool is still in charge of this school. Even my  _father_  can do very little with Dumbledore in his way, you know, and he's on the board of governors."

Gregory was leaning over a plate laden with food, looking eagerly at Calista; there was a splash as his elbow landed hard in a gravy boat.

"You heard about it? You heard about my potion?"

"Erm, yes, I guess so. You have gravy all over your elbow."

Gregory lifted his arm; the gravy boat came with it, and more gravy dripped out of it, onto the tablecloth.

"Oops," he said, yanking it off with the other hand, with minimal effort and another round of messy splashing. He lifted his elbow, and craned his neck, sticking his tongue out at an awkward angle to lick the gray away.

"Oh,  _honestly_ ," Draco said, shaking his head with derision. "You're about three brain cells away from a proper troll. I'm going back to the common room - meet me there when you're done making an utter fool of yourself."

True to his word, Draco rose, and brushed the front of his robes, even though as far as Calista could tell, the gravy had missed him. He turned, and then spared a glance over his shoulder, to Gregory and Vincent, who had each picked up another turkey leg from the platters at the centre of the table, and were happily gnawing at them.

"On second thought - meet me in the common room when you're finished demolishing that wretched bird; I don't suppose I have time to wait for you to stop making complete fools of yourselves."

"Hey," Vincent said, glaring around a mouthful of turkey, and spraying a bit of it out on the table. " _I'm_  not a fool."

Gregory just grinned, with a piece of turkey skin stuck between his teeth. Calista winced.

"You know - I think I'm going to go to the common room, too," she said, hurriedly, getting to her feet.

Percy was just getting up from the Gryffindor table, too; she let her cousin go on ahead, and waited for Percy.

"Happy Christmas, Calista," Percy said, "Thank you for the quills - can never have too many, eh?"

"I suppose not," she agreed. "Thanks for the bookmarks. Same goes, really."

"Oh, you're quite welcome," he said, gaze swinging over her shoulder. She knew without following it that he was looking at the Ravenclaw table. "Ah, there's Penny," he said, face turning pink. "I should - I should go over and say hello, shouldn't I? You go on, I'll be - just a minute."

"Not so fast," Calista said, looking him up and down, with a critical eye. "Your brothers were laughing at you during the feast, you know - I saw one of the twins do something with his wand, but I couldn't tell what it - ah."

She reached out, and lightly tapped his Prefect badge. "You, erm, might want to fix this. Before you go over to see Penny."

He looked down, reaching for the badge; his entire face flushed red, as he realised they'd bewitched it. " _Pinhead_ ," he said, fussing with it and reaching for his wand, "Oh, honestly, how  _very mature_. I can see a Hogwarts education isn't being wasted on  _them._ "

"Well - at any rate - have a nice rest of the day, all right? Say - say hi to Penny for me, too."

"Yes, yes, of course," Percy said, repositioning his corrected badge, and straightening his robes. "Good - good day."

He hurried past her. "Penny!" she heard him call, "Did you like the book -  _144 Grossly Clever Chess Manoeuvres_  -"

She shook her head, and continued on her way, through the great wooden doors and out of the Great Hall. On a normal afternoon free of classes, she'd have gone to the library, or perhaps even to the Ravenclaw common room, but none of her friends would be there; only Penny and Percy had stayed behind, and they obviously didn't need  _her_  company at the moment.

Of course, the good news was that almost none of the Slytherins had stayed behind either; for once, she could feel confident that spending an afternoon in the Slytherin common room  _wouldn't_  mean she had to systematically avoid Marcus -  _or_  watch him try to suck Hecate Rowle's face off - nor would she have to endure any of Olivia's barbed comments or vicious looks.

She decided to return to the common room. Draco wasn't here as far as she could tell, despite what he'd told his friends, but the fourth years that had stayed behind had claimed a group of chairs near the fireplace; she supposed she could have asked them to move, but she'd rather let them be in the hopes that they'd return the favour, so instead she claimed one of the long, low sofas to herself, curling up with a book -  _not_ , as she'd hoped to be doing, with the one that her Uncle Lucius had sent, since he'd decided to send her that pureblood-supremacist rubbish book instead of the one she'd asked for, but with the one Gerald had sent instead.

It appeared to be of a similar nature to the  _Complete Compendium_  that she and Gerald each owned a copy of now, except that it included only runes and runic languages known to Muggles. It turned out that they had knowledge of very few of the sets known in the wizarding world - mainly the Futhark sets, and even then, the book only mentioned about three-quarters of the ones that Calista was familiar with. Still, they had managed to unearth a  _fascinating_  amount about the runes, for people who knew nothing of magic - she found herself becoming quite engrossed in the book.

Distantly, she was aware of the common room door opening; she glanced up, to see Draco and his friends coming in.

"Wait here," she heard Draco say, "I'll go and get it - my father's just sent it to me."

She rolled her eyes, wondering what pureblood-manic rubbish Lucius must have sent to his own son; perhaps it was the very same book. Despite herself, she was curious; she glanced up as he returned, carrying a piece of paper; whatever it was, it didn't appear very interesting. She shrugged lightly, and repositioned herself on the sofa, returning to her book.

"-Weasley loves Muggles so much he should snap his wand in half and go join them," she heard Draco say derisively, and her ears perked again. "You'd never know the Weasleys were purebloods, the way they behave. I don't understand how my cousin can be friendly with that Peter - I say, what's up with you, Crabbe?"

One of his friends muttered something; she couldn't hear what it was. She  _could_  hear Draco, loudly advising his friend to go to the hospital wing - "Give all those Mudbloods a kick from me," he snickered, and Calista gripped the edges of her new book tightly, forcing herself to take long, calming breaths, and  _not_  to go over to Draco in front of every Slytherin that had stayed behind for Christmas and admonish him; after all, she knew by now that calling him out in front of his friends had no effect on him whatsoever. She would have to try a different tactic, perhaps…

"Saint Potter, the Mudbloods' friend," Draco was saying now, "Another one with no proper wizard feeling, or he wouldn't go around with that jumped-up Granger Mudblood. And people think  _he's_  Slytherin's heir!"

"I just wish," he continued, "I knew who it  _is_. I could help them."

Well, at least he had evidently stopped trying to convince his friends that  _she_  was the Heir of Slytherin. She shifted slowly, tilting her head so she could more easily overhear.

"You must have some idea who's behind it all," Gregory said, in a rather sharper tone that Calista could ever remember hearing him use before.

"You know I haven't, Goyle," Draco snapped back, in an even sharper tone, "How many times do I have to tell you? And Father won't tell me  _anything_  about the last time the Chamber was opened, either. Of course it was fifty years ago, so it was before his time - but he knows all about it. He says it was all kept quiet, and it will look suspicious if I know too much about it. But I do know one thing - the last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened, a Mudblood  _died_. So I bet it's a matter of time before one of them's killed this time -"

Calista heard a low, dangerous growl - a second later, she realised it was coming from her. She slammed her book shut, and sat up, spine straight and jaw rigid.

"Whoever it was was expelled," Draco was saying now, authoritatively. "They're probably still in Azkaban -"

Calista swallowed, as a familiar ringing in her ears started up.  _Azkaban_. A flash of an image, a newspaper clipping -  _no._  She forced the thought down and away, banishing it somewhere beyond her first and second set of mental barriers. She wasn't going to go down  _that_  particular rabbit-hole again so soon.

"...Let the Heir of Slytherin get on with it," Draco was saying, "He says the school needs ridding of all the Mudblood filth, but not to get mixed up in it-"

She clutched her book to her chest, and marched over to where Draco and his friends were sitting; she was willing to bet that her eyes were flashing in a manner reminiscent of her father, but she didn't care. At first, none of them noticed her - not even Gregory, who always seemed to be the first of the trio to say hello to her when she approached; but then, maybe he  _had_  noticed and was frightened by the expression on her face, because he and Vincent suddenly made an excuse, and practically  _ran_  from the common room, ducking their faces away from view.

For a moment, she thought she saw - but that was mad, of course Vincent didn't have red hair - and Gregory certainly didn't have a  _scar_  on his forehead. Her rage must have been making her see things; she focused on Draco, and was able to force herself to see clearly.

"A word, Draco, if you would," she said, hearing the curt edge in her own voice; gods, it was almost frightening, sometimes, how much she could manage to sound like her father. Marcus had been right about that -

 _And about nothing else_ , she thought, fiercely, inwardly.  _And Uncle Lucius - and Draco - they're not right, either._

"Of course, Calista. What's wrong? You look - well, a bit like your dad did when Potter threw that firework." He chuckled.

Calista quirked a brow, and motioned Draco over to the sofa where she'd been sitting; it was in a quiet corner, removed from the fourth years who were trading Chocolate Frog cards by the fire.

"I've asked you many times," she said, quietly, as Draco sat; she remained standing. "Not to use that word - you know which one."

"Come off it, Calista, no one cares -"

" _I_ care," she hissed, "And you know why I do. I have  _friends_  who are Muggle-born, Draco. I know you're aware of it, although you try to pretend it's not true, I suppose in an effort to impress your racist little friends -"

"I don't need to  _impress_  anyone," Draco cut in, darkly. "I'm a  _Malfoy_ ; it comes naturally. You're the one who pretends on that front."

"What is  _that_ supposed to mean?"

"Precisely what you said," Draco sneered quietly, "You're friends with Mudbloods, aren't you?"

" _Enough_ ," she hissed, narrowing her eyes.

"Muggle-borns," Draco amended, still speaking very softly. "Fine. You're friends with Muggle-borns. And you're wrong. I don't care for the reason you think - I don't pretend you're not for the reason you think."

"Why, then?" she challenged, "You know - not  _all_  Slytherins feel the same way that you've evidently decided to. Endria's our Head Girl, and I've never heard  _her_  say any of the rubbish you do. We have - Draco, we may very well have Muggle-born students in  _Slytherin_ ; do you care how you might be making them feel, going on about hoping they'll  _die_?"

"How nice it must be for you," Draco said, "To  _decide_  your opinions on things. I suppose you think I get to do the same thing."

"Of course you do."

"No," Draco said, "No, I don't. Father would - I don't even want to tell you the things he would do to me, if I were - if I were the same as  _you_. Hanging around with Muggle-borns and blood traitors… and if you  _must_  know, that's the reason, by the way."

Calista blinked; what was Draco  _saying_? He wasn't… he couldn't be saying that he thought Lucius would  _hurt_  him, could he?

"That's why I pretend you don't hang around that kind of rubbish," her cousin continued quietly, "So Mother and Father won't find out, and - and treat you differently."

Calista felt her eyes widen. "Draco…"

"They _would_ treat you differently, believe me," he said, and he glanced up at her, with a spark of concern that looked out of place on his normally haughty features. "And I like you. You're my cousin, and - and you're actually not half bad. You told me about those secret rune spells…"

Calista felt a flash of guilt; she had still never told him those weren't real. Suddenly, it didn't seem quite so funny anymore.

"So… so anyway," Draco finished, "I suppose I could try to stop saying certain things in front of you, or to any of your friends, if it would make you feel better, but I have to do - I have to be - what's  _expected_."

"Draco," Calista said sadly, shaking her head, "Draco, no you don't…"

Draco laughed darkly. "Your father really cares about you, Calista. More than anything, I think.  _My_ father… he cares about me, sure. But - not more than power. Not more than status. I think I'm - a distant third. Maybe fourth, I'm not sure how I stack up against money."

He shook his head, bitterly. "So, no, maybe  _you_  don't have to do what's expected - but  _I do_."

"Draco, my father - he cares about you, too."

"I'm pretty sure he does," Draco agreed, "But - the thing is - I have to live with mine. So..."

He twisted his face into a sad, defeated sort of smirk. "So to hell with those filthy Mudbloods."


	11. Chapter 11

A few days after Christmas, rumours began flying that another attack had occurred; a second-year Gryffindor girl had been in the hospital wing since Christmas Day, and no one had been let in to visit her.

At last, however, there was something to be relieved about. When she'd gone to her father to ask about it, he had assured her that it was an unrelated incident, that the girl, Miss Granger, had been partially Transfigured into a cat, and that it had not been attributed to any sort of attack. She recognised the name as belonging to Harry Potter's friend - the one that Draco had made threatening comments about on Christmas. But Draco wouldn't - _would_ he?

Calista had written Gerald to let him know that she wasn't able to get the Slytherin manuscript; she'd even asked her father if it was something  _he_  would be able to find, and though he'd agreed to look into it for her, he'd made it quite clear that it was likely to be impossible. A few days later, he'd told her that there were only a handful of known copies, and that none had been seen in over a decade. Knowing that Lucius may not even have been  _able_  to procure it did little to improve her feelings towards him, in light of her Christmas day conversation with Draco.

Gerald, at least, had been remarkably understanding - but then, she hadn't told him precisely what Lucius had written, or what book he'd sent instead.

They soon returned to their usual pattern, of poring through books in between patrolling the corridors. It felt frustratingly like starting over, though at least the weeks began to stretch on without any further attacks.

There was something else, too, that frustrated her, during their long hours researching - the inexplicable return of one of her worst enemies.

It wasn't Olivia Avril, or even Hecate Rowle, but someone far more insidious and for more difficult to avoid: the blushing, hair-twirling fiend that had once decided to possess her younger self, years ago, had been gradually making a return - only this time, Calista was older, and a much better Occlumens, and she was determined to banish the loathsome invader before anyone else noticed her.

Most of the time, the invader was silent; but sometimes, lately, it would rise up unexpectedly, almost always when she was alone with Gerald.

"What about a Gorgon?" Gerald asked one Wednesday evening, looking up suddenly from a thick volume on Dark creatures.

Calista frowned. "No one's been turned to stone, exactly, though."

"Well, what if there's some sort of - alternate breed?" he speculated, "There are more than one species of banshee, after all…"

"Well, then, by that logic, couldn't it  _also_  be an as-yet undiscovered species of banshee?" Calista wondered, wrinkling her nose thoughtfully, "Or even a basilisk - I realise we've already ruled both of those out because the victims were Petrified rather than killed, but if we're speculating on  _undiscovered breeds_ …"

"It does open up a whole new can of - well, snakes," Gerald agreed, "But at this point, perhaps it's worth considering. Let's draw up a list of creatures that are known to turn victims to stone, and also, just to be safe, those that are typically deadly without causing marks."

Calista nodded, and withdrew a sheet of parchment from underneath her stack of books. "Once the list seems fairly complete, we can divide it up and search for references to atypical encounters."

She scrawled on the paper -  _Banshees, Basilisks, Gorgons._

"What else?" she wondered.

"There's something I've heard before," Gerald said, adopting a contemplative expression. There was something about it - something that made a funny little jolt in her chest. Her finger creeped up, and started winding a strand of her hair around it. Damn it. Her archenemy had returned.

"A - a dullahan, I think it's called," she realised Gerald was still speaking. "It's supposed to appear in the form of a horseman, and call out someone's name. They die within a day of their name being spoken, without a mark. I think they may be extinct, though."

She turned her face down to the parchment, grateful for an excuse not to look at him, to take time to gather her thoughts. "At this point, we might as well investigate  _everything_ ," she said, hastily, unwinding her hair from her finger.

She stuck her hand in her pocket so she wouldn't be tempted to touch her hair again, and took a deep steadying breath, and another. After a few moments had passed, she felt herself again.

They wrote down a couple of other ideas, though truth be told they were getting more and more farfetched; eventually, Gerald suggested they pause to make their usual rounds through the corridors.

She had an inexplicable urge, walking beside him, to reach for his hand - she allowed herself to imagine how he might react if she actually did it. She imagined bewilderment, confusion - possibly embarrassment. What if he thought it meant that she  _fancied_  him?

She felt her face flush suddenly, and she let him get a step ahead, trailing just behind him.

 _No_ , she mentally told her hair-twirling counterpart.  _No, we are not doing this. Remember how it all worked out last time? We do not - I do_ not _\- fancy Gerald. And even if I did… it doesn't matter. He doesn't want to date anyone while he's got N.E.W.T. exams to worry about._

"Calista? Is everything all right?" he called, glancing back. He paused, allowing her to catch up.

She scowled. "Yes. Why wouldn't it be?"

"You've just been quiet the last few minutes, is all. I asked what you thought about going through some of Scamander's older works…"

"Oh," she said, relieved to have something solidly academic to focus on. "Yes, that's a good idea. Sorry, I was thinking about… about the Gorgon idea you had."

They had nearly completed their usual circuit now, and were nearing the library again. "Your ideas were good too," Gerald said, "Especially about the b-"

He stopped speaking suddenly, and darted in front of her, wand drawn.

"Gerald, what -"

"We left the lights on," he said, sharply, stepping forward, so that he blocked the doorway of the library. "You should cover your ears, and your eyes, in case -"

It was true, she realised, they  _had_  left the lights on, when they'd left - but the library was pitch-dark now. Still, Madam Pince could have come along and switched them off…

There was a sudden flurry of motion, a rustling sound; she could just barely make out a humanoid shape in the dim moonlight that filtered through the windows. Calista reached into her pocket, and drew her wand out as well; she tried to get a good angle on whatever the shape was, but Gerald stepped forward again, effectively blocking her.

" _Lumos_ ," she said, rolling her eyes, and aiming her wand underneath his arm.

The light of her wand revealed a cloaked figure, slipping between two sets of bookshelves - the figure squealed, and started to run.

"Bethany," Gerald sighed, lowering his wand. "You're out past curfew again. I'm going to have to give you a detention. I'll have to take points from Ravenclaw, too - it's dangerous to be out like this, you've got to stop."

The younger girl nodded with mock contrition, clutching a book to her chest. "Sorry," she said, "Won't happen again."

"Somehow, I find that hard to believe," Calista muttered; and then, louder: "What are you looking for?"

Bethany blinked. "N-nothing. Just… just, you know, rebelling."

Calist frowned. She stepped forward, holding her hand out. "Let me see that book."

Bethany held it out slightly, rear cover faced towards Calista, so she couldn't read the title. "There," she said, clutching it back after a moment, "You've seen it."

Calista rolled her eyes for the second time. "Give me the book, Bethany."

"Why?"

"You can't remove a library book from the library if you haven't checked it out," Gerald piped up, helpfully. "I'm afraid you will have to hand the book over, Bethany - and then I'll walk you back to Ravenclaw Tower. Again."

Bethany scowled, clutching the book protectively a few seconds longer; then, reluctantly, she turned, and stuck it back on the shelf.

Gerald nodded. "All right, let's go."

He motioned the younger girl forward, and they headed for the doorway. Calista went the opposite way, to the shelf where Bethany had returned the book, and plucked it out, examining the cover.

 _The New Everyday Housewitch's Guide to Essential Potions_.

She frowned, and flipped to the index. As she did so, a bent page corner caught her attention. She cringed, and tried her best to straighten it out, glancing at the page's contents as she did so.

_Infatuation Infusion_

She blinked, and read on.

_This variation on a love potion is tasteless and odorless, so it is ideal for those situations where secrecy is vital. Like a traditional love potion, it calls for ashwinder eggs and pearl dust, but it is the addition of ghost plant leaves that makes this one undetectable._

Calista set the book down on the nearest table, and hurried after Gerald and Bethany; they had only made it about halfway down the corridor.

"Wait," she called, and Gerald paused, bidding Bethany to do so as well. He looked back at her, questioningly.

" _I'll_  walk Bethany back to Ravenclaw Tower," she said, "There's something I think she and I need to have a bit of a chat about."

She recalled, too late, that her father had forbidden her from walking through the corridors at night alone; but then,  _technically_ , she was with Bethany, so perhaps that would be good enough -

"I'll follow behind," Gerald said, allowing her to catch up to them, "As an added precaution."

Well, Calista supposed that solved  _her_  problem, at least. A thread of suspicion wormed its way into her mind; had her father gone to Gerald behind her back, and told him that Calista wasn't to roam to corridors alone? How mortifying it would be if he had…

She sighed, forcing that thought aside for later, and started walking again, alongside Bethany. She waited until Gerald fell several paces behind to address the younger girl.

"So," she said, quietly, "Who's the love potion for?"

Bethany glanced up, and blinked rapidly. "No one - erm, I mean, nothing? I mean - what love potion?"

"The one you've been researching all this time - oh, and, I suspect the one you nicked ingredients from my father's stores for."

Bethany's dark eyes went wide. "N-no… I didn't…"

"Oh, I think you did; but that's not my primary concern at the moment. Who is the potion for, Bethany?"

"Even if I  _was_ making a potion," Bethany said, cautiously, "And I'm not - but even if I was - why would I tell  _you_? I mean, you're a _Prefect_."

"That's true, I am," Calista agreed, "But I'm also a girl. Love potions can be dangerous - would you rather tell Gerald, or Professor Flitwick, why you've been trying to brew one?"

"No," Bethany said quickly, "I mean - if I was. Which I'm not. Definitely not."

"All right," Calista said, glancing back; Gerald was still about four paces behind. She wasn't positive whether he could overhear or not, so she lowered her voice, further. "You're not brewing - or planning on brewing - an Infatuation Infusion. And  _I_  didn't brew Amortentia in my wardrobe four years ago, either."

Bethany's eyes went even rounder. "Really? Did it - did you - "

Bethany glanced back now, too, and then sidestepped, closer to Calista. With effort, she managed to suppress her instinct to flinch away. Bethany leaned up and whispered.

"Did it work?"

"Oh, yes, it certainly did," Calista said. "Luckily, I recovered my senses quickly enough for him to receive the antidote before anything happened - because if I hadn't, being potentially expelled would have been the least of my worries."

" _Expelled_?" Bethany whispered back, hoarsely. "For a - for a love potion?"

"Well," Calista said, "Once again, that depends on who it's for. In… in my case, I made it for… a friend of mine, who told me it was for her parents, but in actuality, she dosed an older boy with it. A  _much_  older boy; she was twelve, and he was sixteen."

Bethany sniffed, and lifted her chin, defensively. "That's not  _much_  older."

They rounded a corner; they were nearing Ravenclaw Tower now. She had to make her point quickly.

"If you think that's true, then you don't know sixteen-year-old boys very well," Calista said, grimly. "If he hadn't received the antidote in time - something awful and irreversible could have happened. Something that could have landed the boy in a lot of trouble, and - and really hurt my friend."

Now, referring to Olivia, even in the past tense, as a 'friend' twisted her mouth up; but the distinction wasn't important to make in this case.

Bethany's jaw dropped; Calista saw her grimace. "How much trouble?"

"Depending on how far things got - and the ages of the people involved - potentially quite a lot. So. With that in mind, who is the potion for?"

They had reached the heavy wooden doors, now. Calista stopped a few paces short, so as not to rouse the knocker before they were ready; Gerald stopped a few paces further back, though he was watching them carefully.

Bethany exhaled, and lowered her eyes. "I don't want him to be in trouble," she whispered, "I just want - I just want him to notice me. I don't - it doesn't matter to me about the age difference, and if I could just make  _him_  see that..."

"How… how much of an age difference are we talking about, here?" Calista asked carefully.

"Uhm. More than - more than yours."

Calista did the math, quickly. Bethany was a fourth-year - that would put her at at least fourteen, and if the difference between the age of her and the boy was more than four years…

It would have to be an older seventh year or possibly someone who was held back, but the only one she knew of was Marcus, and even he was still only seventeen - even the  _oldest_  seventh years would be only eighteen… but maybe Bethany didn't know that. Unless she meant…

" _How_  muchmore?"

"He - he signed my book with a heart over the 'i'," Bethany whispered, "That - I thought that  _had_  to mean something, but he's barely looked at me since then."

_Signed your book?_

Calista blinked, and scowled. "Really?  _Him?_ "

"I love him," Bethany whispered, defensively.

"No, you don't," Calista said, firmly. "I'm far from an expert, but I know  _that_. He's probably old enough to be your father - and, really, Bethany… some day, you'll find someone your own age. Someone better than  _Gilderoy Lockhart_."

"No, I won't," Bethany moaned, "No one's better - he's so - he's so...  _perfect_."

"Well, we have vastly differing ideas on that," Calista said, almost dismissively; inexplicably, her eyes drifted briefly to Gerald, behind them. "But if he is a decent person at all, then he would definitely not become -  _involved -_ with an underaged student, and trying to coerce him into doing so would end disastrously for both of you.  _Trust me_."

Bethany frowned. "I guess. Can I go to bed now?"

"Yes," Calista said, "I think that's a good idea. But - one thing, Bethany."

The younger girl looked up, miserably.

"Actually, two things," Calista amended. "One - I want you to give the potions ingredients back. You can give them to me, if you want. That way I know you're not actually making the potion, and I won't have to tell anyone where the ingredients went or how they were returned."

"You won't - you really won't tell?" Bethany said, relief flooding her features.

Calista shook her head. "As long as you return them by tomorrow. And - two."

Bethany looked up expectantly.

"Give yourself a bit more credit," Calista said, firmly. "I barely know you, and even  _I_  can tell you deserve a lot better than some middle-aged fop who'd probably lose a duel against a plate of lunch meat."

Bethany scowled, and huffed. "So  _you_  say," she muttered, whirling around and stepping up to the heavy wooden door. The knocker sprang to life.

"What gift is freely given, rarely taken, wrapped in faith, and oft forsaken?"

Bethany frowned. "I don't know. It's too late for this nonsense. Friendship, maybe??"

"I'm sorry, but I can't let you in; that's not correct."

"Great," Bethany wailed, "Now I'm locked out!"

Gerald stepped forward. "Actually," he said, "I think I know this one. Freely given, rarely taken. The answer is good advice."

The door swung open. "Quite right."

Bethany slunk inside, and the door closed behind her. Calista turned to Gerald, wondering how much of their conversation he had overheard.

"So," he said, "We're not even having Lockhart duel the whole sandwich, anymore?"

Calista grinned. "Well," she said, "I thought we ought to give him a fighting chance."

They turned back the way they had come, walking side by side. After a few minutes of silence, Gerald glanced over at her.

"I didn't hear everything you said," he told her, "But I did hear enough to know - the answer to the riddle was exactly what you gave her. I think… I think you were the right one to talk to her."

"Oh. Well - what's the point of doing a series of impossibly stupid things if you can't use them to talk someone else out of doing them, too?"

He quirked a brow. "Impossibly stupid? I have to argue with you on that. Every single thing you've ever done - good or bad - has led you to the person you are now. And I'd say…"

She felt a sudden warmth as he reached for her hand, and squeezed it gently. She squeezed it back, without thinking; she realised that, again, she hadn't flinched at the unexpected touch.

"I'd say everything turned out - remarkably impressive."

Calista swallowed; she felt her cheeks flush, and was grateful they were nearing the library again, and it was still dark.

"I think - I think you're... erm, pretty impressive, too," she murmured.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Calista practically flounced into her father's quarters on Saturday morning.

"Here," she said, setting a small jar and a paper packet down on his kitchen table, between the two mugs of coffee he'd laid out. "Ashwinder eggs and pearl dust - precisely the amount you were missing, I suspect. Just don't ask me where I recovered them from."

Severus' eyebrows rose. "All right," he said, " _How_  did you recover them, then?"

She reflected for a moment, as she settled into her usual chair, and dragged the mug across the table's surface towards herself.

"Prefecting," she said at last, after she'd taken a healthy sip. "It turns out I'm quite good at it."

"Well," he said drily, "I can hardly argue the point in the face of such compelling evidence."

He lifted his eyes to her face and studied her carefully. "You seem to be in an exceptionally pleasant mood today," he said, suspiciously. "In fact, you have been since Thursday - should I be concerned that you may be up to something?"

"Only superior academic progress," she said, innocently. "I aced that antidote yesterday - you saw. And, you know, I've received 'O' marks on every single homework essay all week -  _and_  did I tell you, my Freezing Charm evidently works on  _people_?"

"I - may have heard a particular rumour, about that," he said, fighting the quirk at the corner of his mouth that threatened a full-blown smirk. "Have you had any luck performing it wandlessly, then?"

She grinned. "Just got it Thursday, during Flitwick's Independent Study - only with a beetle so far mind you - but I've landed on a rune that seems to work, thanks to the book Gerald gave me for Christmas. With enough practise, I'm certain I'll be able to apply it to larger things."

"Which rune?" he asked, curiously, "And which book?"

" _Subsisteum_ ," she said, "And it's a Muggle book, believe it or not - it helped me eliminate runes that aren't covered under the Statute of Secrecy, and then I decided to select just one rune - the rune for 'ice' or as close as I could find - from each of the different lingual sets. I felt a small pull of power when I hit the Latin rune ' _Glacus_ ', so from there I've only been focusing on the Latin set.  _Subsisteum_ works the best so far."

A small smile did pull at the corners of Severus' mouth now. "Ah - perhaps I should have thought to suggest a Latin basis for your research early on," he said, "That's where  _I've_  always had the most success creating spells."

He withdrew his wand from his pocket and waved it over the table. A medium-sized black beetle appeared, and began a slow crawl towards him. "Show me."

She pushed her coffee mug aside, to give her a clear view, and took a deep breath.

"I've only done it a few times so far - and it only lasts as long as I keep drawing the rune."

She lifted her right hand - her wand hand - and traced a runic pattern with her index finger, glaring fiercely at the beetle. He saw her mouth form the name of the rune silently.

The beetle halted its progress; its antennae froze in midair.

Calista kept repeating the motions with her finger, and mouthing the name of the rune; the look in her eyes was one of intense concentration, and fierce effort - he recalled, in a flash, a similar expression, a similar dedication, many years ago, the very first time he had introduced her to the concept of legilimency, and goaded her into giving it a try.

"Perhaps," Severus said, thoughtfully, "Once you've perfected the Freezing Charm, you should try to adapt legilimency the same way."

She stopped moving her finger and her mouth, and her expression relaxed. Immediately, the beetle began crawling again. "Why?"

He waved his wand vanishing the beetle. "It seems to me the next logical step, if you're starting with spells you're naturally good at. And you can hardly deny that it would be a useful skill to possess even if you were disarmed."

"But I can already  _do_  it wandlessly…"

"Yes," he conceded, "Within the confines of your own mind, of course, and also against those with little to no mental defences -"

An involuntary sneer told her his opinion of  _those_  sorts. "Also with me, to some extent, but our connection in either direction is not at all typical. Beyond those specific cases, it's extremely challenging to perform wandlessly, even for me - but perhaps you can find a way to improve your performance with runes."

She considered. "I could practice on you."

"That was my thought, yes."

"I'll have to start testing runes," she mused. "There's no reason I can't do that while I'm still practising the Freezing Charm…"

"What about your Patronus?" he asked, seemingly out of the blue, "How has that been progressing?"

"It hasn't," she said, frowning slightly; the first sign she'd exhibited in days of an ill temper. "Gerald's managed it, though - his is an owl."

Severus reached for his coffee mug; it was only tepid, but they did have things to do, so he drained it as it was without reheating it.

"Perhaps," he suggested, "We can practise after your legilimency lesson."

Calista sighed, with an exaggerated heaviness. "You haven't forgotten that's why I'm here, then."

"I'm afraid not. Shall we begin?"

"It's not as if I actually have a choice," she muttered, rolling her eyes; but he wasn't fooled. She was still happy.

He felt a tiny spark of happiness himself; it was good - quite good - to see her this way.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

"I only said you could copy the formulas," Calista said, scowling over the stack of books between her and Amelia.

"Oops," Amelia said, insincerely. "I forgot."

"Liar," Calista said, but without any real malice.

"Shhh!" Madam Pince hissed, as she walked by their study table, glowering down at them. "This is a library!"

"She really likes to remind us of that," Amelia murmured, once she'd moved on, "I s'pose so we don't start thinking we're in the Owlery, or something - I mean, I can see where we might get confused."

"Mm," Calista agreed, running her finger across an index entry in her book, "Owls, books - I always forget which is which."

"I think," Amelia said, "Books are the ones that fly. Might have that wrong, though."

Calista grinned; her good mood had been lasting weeks now, and even an occasional hasty visit from her hair-twirling, blushing counterpart was tolerable and easily managed. Furthermore, there hadn't been any attacks since before Christmas, and the Mandrake Draught she was helping her father with was coming along nicely.

"Speaking of books," she said, "We've got a Hogsmeade weekend coming up next week - butterbeer and then bookstore, as usual?" She remembered Gerald saying he spent Hogsmeade weekends there, usually; perhaps she'd run into him , too.

"Oh - not this time, actually. I can't."

Calista looked up; Amelia was  _blushing_.

"Why not?" she asked, suspiciously.

"Well, it's - it's Valentine's weekend," Amelia said, a slow grin spreading on her face. "And I have a date."

Calista blinked. "You  _do?_  With who?"

"Someone you know," Amelia said, fidgeting. "If they haven't told you - I don't know if I should."

She frowned. "Of course you should; I'm your best friend."

"Yes, well. I don't - you know, I don't kiss and tell."

Calista raised her eyebrows. "So you've already kissed this person, then?"

Amelia's grin widened. "Can't tell."

In her mind, Calista ran through the list of boys she knew well enough that it was reasonable to expect they might have told her about having a date with Amelia. It wouldn't be Marcus; Amelia wouldn't do that to her, and besides, he was still more or less glued to Hecate Rowle.

"It's not Percy," she mused; Amelia made an exaggeratedly horrified face. Calista ran through the other boys in their Arithmancy class. "Nathaniel Goldstein? James Kinney? Lucas Bones?"

Amelia rolled her eyes. "No, no, and no. Not even close. It  _is_  someone in our Arithmancy class, though."

"It's not…" Horror welled up in her gut. "It's not  _Gerald_ , is it?"

" _Definitely not_ ," Amelia said, firmly. "This is getting fun - I don't think I'm going to tell you at all. I'm going to make you keep guessing."

"You're a berk," Calista said, half-heartedly; relief was flooding through her as quickly as the horror had begun to. "Anyway, I should have known it wasn't Gerald - you're the one that told me he doesn't want to date anyone while he's in school."

"Who cares about Gerry?" Amelia said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "He'd probably marry a library if he could. Anyway - my date is  _far_  more interesting than he is."

Calista remembered something Gerald had said, a few weeks ago, and smiled softly. "I have to argue with that," she said, quietly; Amelia was bent over the parchment again, and didn't seem to notice.

"Hey," Calista said, "Stop copying my diagrams!"

"Oops," Amelia said, sweetly. "I forgot again."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Everyone had a date for the Saturday before Valentine's Day it seemed; Penny and Percy were going to the Three Broomsticks together, though they had asked her and Amelia to keep it quiet. She overheard that Derek and Olivia were going to Madam Puddifoot's, and Marcus was taking Hecate too, evidently.

She had thought  _that_  would be the most horrifying date she could imagine ever happening - that horrid tea shop with Olivia, Derek, Marcus, and Hecate all in attendance - and then she'd talked to Endria.

"Really looking forward to his weekend," Endria had said, during their shared dungeon patrol. "It's been ages since I've gone on a proper date."

" _You've_  got a date, too?" Calista asked, warily; why had everyone  _else_  in the school decided to pair up just months after she had broken off her relationship? At this rate, she'd be perusing the shelves of the bookstore all by herself next Saturday, the only person without a date;  _not_  that she cared, as long as… well, as long as…

"You, erm… you said you liked Ravenclaws," Calista ventured, glancing over at Endria as they passed by the Slytherin common room. "Is that - is that who you've got a date with?"

"Oh, yes," Endria said, grinning. "In fact - I'm going with a Ravenclaw I think you know  _very well_. Someone you spend a lot of time with."

Calista's heart sank; she had to mean Gerald. After all, Endria knew exactly how many patrols she and Gerald went on together… she'd even said something about it, not too long ago.

"Oh," Calista said, and she directed an inward barrage at hair-twirling girl.

 _I told you this would be a terrible idea. This is why it really is best to just focus on school. N.E.W.T.s are next year, and - that's what I thought_ he _wanted, too, but evidently - that's not true, anymore._

It was the second time in her life that she'd had cause to wish Endria wasn't so strikingly  _pretty_ ; but she'd learned from the last time, and anyway, she knew Endria a lot better now than she used to, and - more importantly - she had a much stronger hold on hair-twirling girl than she used to.

Endria wasn't only pretty. She was kind, and clever, and funny - really, just the sort of person you would hope that one of your best friends would end up with.

"I'm really happy for you guys," Calista said, and even despite the heavy feeling in her gut, she was impressed with how sincere she managed to sound. "You'll be - really perfect together."

Endria's smile was dazzlingly bright. "Thanks, Calista. I know that means quite a bit, coming from you."

 _You have no idea_ , Calista thought, sourly; on the outside, she maintained her smile.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

One Saturday in early February, when Severus was expecting his daughter for legilimency lessons, a storm cloud entered instead, and sat itself down with little ceremony, at his kitchen table.

He frowned; she'd been listless yesterday afternoon, as well, when she and Boot had practised their potions for the certification exam. Come to think of it, Boot's mood had seemed slightly strange, as well; he'd seen the boy's hands shake, when he slid the plant towards Calista for her to test her poison, and he'd nearly dropped the flask containing the antidote on the table before successfully administering it to the withered hellebore plant.

"Good morning," he said, sardonically, when she failed to say a word.

She flicked her eyes up, and pursed her lips. "If you say so."

She reached for the mug beside her, and even though he had just filled it, and could still see steam issuing from the top, she gulped half of it down.

"The mandrakes, I'm told, are acting secretive and moody," he told her, curling his lip. "Much like another teenager I know."

"Hah," she said, entirely without humour. Then she took another long sip of coffee, and sighed, setting the mug down. "Shall we get this over with? What do you want me to falsify?"

"Perhaps a smile," he cracked; she glared.

"I think," he said, "We'll try something a bit different today. I want you to enter  _my_  mind; I'm going to show you how I modify my own memories, when I need to. It will be - something of an example for you. And, once you've penetrated the first layer of my defences - rather an easy lesson, on your part."

He expected her to argue that she didn't need him to go easy on her, or give her what he was certain she would perceive as a break - but she didn't. Instead, he felt a tendril of her thoughts approach the edge of his outermost barrier.

"Use your wand," he instructed, "I'm not going to make this easy for you."

Dutifully, she withdrew it, and raised it, looking at him across the table. " _Legilimens._ "

He felt a rush against the edge of his mind, as her strength increase exponentially; her presence increased too, sprouting up along the edges of his mind like an invasive hedge.

It was a clever tactic, one he had used himself against her only a handful of times; it was much more difficult to fend off multiple attack points at once - but it was  _also_  more difficult for the legilimens to continue to fuel multiple attack angles.

He felt her begin to creep her way through, insidious little vines unfurling along his mental barrier, here and there. He wondered if she had any idea how strong she was getting; in his entire life, he had felt the invasion of only one person who might be stronger - but she was more nuanced, more subtle. This was proven when he noticed, too late, a tendril of her presence that had appeared suddenly - inexplicably - just inside his first barrier.

It was finer, more delicate, and entirely different in nature from the rest of the tendrils she'd surrounded and attacked with - and that, he realised belatedly, was why he hadn't realised it was a thread of invasion - he'd mistaken it for the wisp of self that he'd taught her to keep in reserve as an anchor when she entered, waiting around without direction and without much strength.

Another tendril slipped in behind the first, one of the vine-like threads from the hedge-like attack, and he felt  _this_  one latch in his mind, anchoring her. The rest of her presence withdrew, as he'd shown her, to prevent overexertion and the splitting headache that always accompanied it.

"That was very well done," he murmured. "Now - watch. I'm going to show you a series of memories, of feelings - precisely the way I might arrange them if I were truly under attack."

They came towards her, swirling about like currents in a stream - if he hadn't told her that he was prearranging them, she would have thought she was encountering the natural flow of his thoughts.

_..._

_A tiny girl, looking up at him from the floor of a room in some dunghill of a mostly Muggle orphanage. She looked pitiful, though he supposed she thought she looked formidable - but there was strength in her eyes, in those jet depths that looked hauntingly like his own._

' _Chloe,' he murmured to her, and then smirked. 'No, I don't think that name suits you. I think you're more of a - Calista.'_

_He had her attention, then; he saw an unmistakable spark in her eyes - ah, he was right. There was far more hiding back there, in her head, than any of these fools could possibly comprehend._

_..._

_He wasn't a patient man, not really; and this girl, this skinny, wretched little child was requiring all he had and then more._

_Still, Bella was an intelligent woman - if she thought the girl could be made useful, she had to be on to something. And he'd_ seen _it, in her eyes, that very first day. There had to be more… he had to enter her mind, and see._

_..._

_Her mind was like chaos; he didn't know if it was her age, or the signs he was seeing now, all around, of nearly unspeakable damage._

_He examined the contents of her mind; it was practically in tatters - pain and fear screamed at him, from every corner - and yet, remarkably, her core was intact, strong. An iron-willed little thing, a ghost-image of herself, that waited patiently in the centre of her mind for him to reach her._

' _You must be cross,' he goaded her spirit-self. 'You must resent me for violating your mind, like this.'_

' _You're not the first,' she said, 'She's here, too.'_

_..._

_As time went on, Bellatrix's influence became more and more clear; the girl's mind was falling apart, her spirit failing. She would be useless before long, if things continued - Bella seemed to have gone mad in Azkaban, and if she'd realised what she was doing - the way her torture was sapping the girl's magical potential - surely she would want an end put to it._

_He entered her mind again, and this time, he separated Bella from it._

' _I'm the one who's made an investment now,' he told her, as he forced her out of their daughter's mind. 'I've been training her in the Dark Arts - and you know, she's quite a willing student when she isn't being tortured out of her wits. You should have been patient, Bella, but you were not, and I am. That's why, when the Dark Lord returns, it will be_ my _daughter that he seeks to recruit.'_

_..._

A series of intertwined images flashed; Calista tried her best to focus on them, but there was an awful hollow in her gut. She didn't know exactly how much of the montage he was showing her was the truth, but it all seemed very real and she could  _feel_  it all again - and even when seen through his eyes instead of her own, the dull pulse of pain was real, in her heart and mind and even in the scars on her back.

He was flashing through images at great speed now; or she was, she wasn't certain, anymore, how much of this he was controlling and how much she was.

She saw images of herself, gradually growing older, growing taller. Her eyes were often fierce, but sometimes blank, and sometimes full of a terrible pain - once in a great while, they were happy.

As the images progressed, the happy look appeared more and more often; the things she did in the visions became more and more aligned with the present. She was studying for an exam at his kitchen table, she was lifting her wand to practise a curse, she was brewing a complicated potion as he stood over her shoulder.

Something else was happening, as the images went on - the emotional threads that connected them, that wove them together, was growing stronger; it was changing.

_..._

' _I don't trust your education of Calista,' Dumbledore said, piercing blue gaze on Severus, face twisted up with suspicion. 'She cursed a professor of this school, Severus. I didn't think I'd need to remind you that the Dark Arts are forbidden at Hogwarts.'_

' _She needs to be able to protect herself, Albus.'_

' _Protect herself? From_ who _, Severus? Who does she need Dark magic to protect herself against?'_

From you _, Severus thought sourly,_ From the ministry buffoons that will persecute her for who her parents are.

' _From the Dark Lord and his followers, of course - should he ever return.' he said, instead._

' _You sound as if you expect that, Severus.'_

Of course I expect it _, came a thought at the core of his mind, but he met the older man's' gaze steadily, blankly._ That's why I'm here, acting the part of your stooge.

' _Of course I don't expect it,' he said, forcing his mouth into a twisted sort of grimace. 'Of course I hope he does not return - but I have to know she'll be safe, just in case.'_

_This had always been his excuse, for teaching her Dark magic - the need to keep her safe. At first, it was perhaps only that - or perhaps he was foolish to think so. Either way, the excuse had become the truth..._

_..._

The tapestry of emotion surrounding the images threatened to swallow her up, but it was not at all frightening; it was a wave of warmth, a surge of protectiveness. It wrapped her up, like a pair of arms -

_..._

_A frightened little child in the grip of a nightmare - what was he supposed to do? He wrapped his arms around her, awkwardly at first, and then - and then it felt right. She trembled in his arms, and then, after a while, she didn't. She laid her head on his shoulder, slipped into a peaceful sleep. He could have left her then - he didn't. He stayed._

_..._

_She was older now, but the nightmares were the same. She slipped into his quarters in the dead of night; he knew she was there. He reached for her, pulled her into his arms again. She trembled, and then, she stopped. She laid her head on his shoulder. He would give anything - anything to keep her this way, at peace, but he knows she will be back, another night, wrestling the same hurts._

_..._

_She's nearly as tall as he is, and she doesn't tremble anymore; even though he knows she still carries the same burdens, she's learned to shoulder them. Still, a series of things have weighed on her, and here she is, hunched under the little sink in his quarters, allowing herself to shed months and months worth of tears. He lifts her up, wraps his arms around her. It's different, because she is nearly grown, and no longer broken. He doesn't have to hold her together, anymore; he just has to hold her, for a minute. She steps back, and she is whole. She is strong. She is tall, and clever, and full of ideas. She is fierce, and stubborn, and unique. She is the girl he saw a ghost of, a decade ago, in the eyes of the ragged little thing from the orphanage._

_She is his daughter._

_..._

' _I don't want to take the Mark,' she says to him, 'When the Dark Lord returns.'_

' _Why?' he asks her, quietly; but in his heart, he thinks he knows, even though he has always prepared her for service to the cause._

' _She has it,' she says, simply. 'I won't be Marked in the same way as her. I won't have anything to do with her, or anything she believes in.'_

' _What of the things I believe in?' he asks. 'The things you believe in?'_

' _I don't care.' her jaw sets stubbornly. 'I won't fight alongside her. I won't.'_

_He won't force her; he can't. He won't rob her of the agency he's spent the last decade giving her._

_He has made her strong - not just in the Dark Arts, but in so many ways. In a way, it has all gone according to plan. It is just the last part, the last piece, that he cannot complete._

_He doesn't tell her that. He meets the dark eyes, mirrors of his own. 'You know the plan,' he tells her, and: 'We shall discuss this later,''. His voice is deep and smooth, dark like painted glass._

_He knows, though. He knows he cannot force her to take the Mark now, because something_ unplanned  _has happened. He has learned to love his daughter._

_..._

Calista shivered, as the memories transitioned from the past, to the present, and to a future she knew in her heart to be false - and  _yet_ , it seemed so real, so unwaveringly authentic, that she couldn't help but question everything she knew, for just a moment.

"The goal," Severus said, in a slow, heavy voice, "Is for your narrative, one day, to fit seamlessly with mine. That is how -  _if_  he returns - we both survive."

She withdrew slowly from his mind, pulling the last exploring tendon of her consciousness back.

"It...feels - felt - so real," she said, haltingly. She felt as if her words were being pulled from her mouth straight down to the floor. "I don't even know - I don't even trust my own memories, right now."

It wasn't just his absolute mastery of legilimency - to an extent that she hadn't even been able to imagine before - that was making her feel heavy and light at the same time. It was the emotion; the tugging, insistent current of protection, of a love so insistent and strong that it felt like a beast, fierce and powerful - a dragon, perhaps, standing guard at her shoulder, wings spread around her, breathing fire on any and all that might think to do her harm.

It was - the most terrifyingly, hauntingly beautiful thing that she had ever felt. And it was for  _her_.

She felt that wretched little girl inside of her, still; had felt her, every day, but knew how to force her down, to move on and to step outside of that ghost.

"Why did you change it?" she whispered, looking up at him. His eyes were dark, glittering. "Why - why did you change the - the plan you told her, into… into the last thing you showed me?"

"Calista, you know the answer to that."

"No," she said, and she wasn't certain who was speaking in that moment; her, the way she was now, or the tiny, pitiful little fright she'd been. "No, I don't."

"Some things," he said, voice soft and dark like velvet, "Are too powerful, too deeply ingrained in the mind to be separated. You cannot separate fear or anger, from a memory of her. And I -"

He swallowed. "I cannot separate the way  _I_ feel from a memory of you. And so… when we cannot alter the emotional response - we twist the narrative to fit, as best we can. It is… not ideal, but it is what we are left with."

She felt something shifting inside her; something growing. It was that little girl - the skinny, half-broken, wild-eyed little wretch she couldn't shake the image of, now that she'd seen it through his eyes. She was reaching, and stretching her way out of whatever dark little corner Calista always banished her to. Her fingers were reaching for Calista's fingers, and her eyes were moving into Calista's eyes.

"The feeling," Calista said, quietly. "The feeling towards  _me_. That wasn't - that wasn't changed at all? That was completely real?"

"Of course it was," he said, nearly choking on the words. "You cannot falsify -  _that_."

The little girl was gone. But no - that wasn't right, because Calista could still feel the echo of her, under her skin - could still hear the whisper of her fear, distant, in her own ear.

Not gone, then; the little girl had grown. And she was - even though the story had changed, she was the same girl that her father had shown her, at the end of the narrative, strong and stubborn and everything else. She was Calista.

"The feeling is real," she said, and her words sounded shaky; for once, she didn't care. "But the  _story_  wasn't. I remember the real story."

She remembered that he had given her a choice, after the battle he'd waged against Bellatrix in her mind. He'd given her a safe place she could stay, a shelter from everything bad that had ever happened - a shelter that would stop anything else from happening to her in the future, good or bad.

She also remembered the memory, the single thing that had given her the strength to decide to leave it.

 _She was frightened, she was very frightened, and she felt weak and empty. Her mother was here, was hurting her, was trying to… to_ take away her magic _, the very thing that she had warned Calista that others would try to do. But she wasn't alone; her father was here too, and he was going to help her. "I'm going to come back," he had promised, but he had given her something in the meantime, something that made her feel stronger. He'd whispered something in her ear, something that made Calista feel braver. "I love you, Calista," he had said, and she had nearly cried; no one had ever said such a thing to her in her whole life, and she had almost thought that no one ever would. And then he'd said something else; he'd called her "my strong, clever daughter," and the words had lit her up like a star._

She'd left the shelter of her own mind, because of him. She'd opened her eyes, because of him. She had been given the chance to become the person that she was now - the one that Gerald had called "remarkably impressive" - because of  _him_.

And then, when he'd come bursting into the hospital wing to see her, mouth tight and eyes full of what he had said to her, in her mind and in the memory, she remembered looking up, way up, at the eyes that  _were_  so much like her own, now that she'd seen them properly.

' _I love you too,' she had said. 'Please, can we read my cat book tonight?'_

_He hated the cat book; hated the cat, too. And yet - he'd read the book to her a hundred times, with that delightfully sour look on his face, because she asked. He fed the cat and let it live in his home and nibble his socks, because it made her happy._

' _You miserable little wretch,' he'd said, voice choked. 'Of course we can'._

 _She knew what he was really saying;_ now she knew that it felt like a dragon on her shoulder.

"There's something -," she said, now, her voice strained, "There's something I want to try…"

She reached into the pocket of her robes; her fingers trembled slightly as she wrapped them around her wand.

She closed her eyes a second, sucked in a breath - gods, even her lungs felt strange, fragile and steely at the same time.

" _Expecto Patronum!_ " she whispered, fiercely.

She scrunched her eyes closed for one heartbeat, two: then she opened them, to a blinding silver-blue light.

"Of course," Severus said, twisting his face up; his eyes glittered with emotion. "Of course it's a bloody cat."


	12. Chapter 12

Calista waited anxiously just outside the Potions classroom, the usual meeting spot for she and Gerald to begin their Saturday evening patrol of the dungeon corridors.

She knew that she had probably come across to him as standoffish the last week or so, while she digested the knowledge that he and Endria were going on a date for Valentine's Day - well, she supposed she didn't know for  _certain_  that it was Gerald she was going with, but what other Ravenclaw boy did Calista spend a lot of time with?

She'd realised, though, only a minute after she'd conjured her first corporeal Patronus, that she couldn't go on the way she had been. She'd been overcome with the urge to run and find him, and show him that she had done it, and for a moment, she'd felt the same joyful anticipation she always did at the prospect of seeing him, of spending time with him.

She realised she had to find a way around the  _other_  feelings she'd begun to develop for him, or his being with Endria and her inability to deal with it would pose a danger to the friendship they had - that they'd had long before she felt anything other than that.

She saw him now, coming down the corridor in her direction. She took a deep breath, and verified that hair-twirling girl - and all her accompanying feelings - were tucked safely in a deeper layer of her mind, away from the surface.

He looked apprehensive as he approached, and offered a weak smile of greeting.

 _Oh no_. There was something in his expression - why was he nervous? Unless - unless he  _had_  figured out that she was acting oddly, and had guessed the reason why. What if he was afraid she was going to start drawing hearts with his name in them on all of her class notes, or was going to ask him out on a date, like Gwen Pierce had done?

She sucked in a steadying breath, and then let it out. The only way to reassure him that things hadn't changed was to act like they hadn't.

"Gerald, I have to show you something," she said, forcing a smile, "Before we start patrolling."

He looked at her, mirroring her smile; did she imagine that his was forced, as well?

"Your wandless Freezing Charm?" he guessed, "Have you gotten it to work on larger animals already?"

"Oh. No, but thanks for reminding me, I've still got to write that up for Professor Flitwick - no, this is a different charm…"

"A different charm?" His smile now was undoubtedly genuine; it also caused a funny little flutter in Calista's stomach. "Surely, then, you must mean your Patronus Charm? Have you made progress?"

She felt a sly little grin find its way to her face; she couldn't help it.

"See for yourself," she said, and then she drew her wand, aiming it down the corridor to her right; already, it was becoming instinctive for her to aim her wand away from him when casting near him, just as he was always careful to do for her.

She lifted her wand, and opened up a tiny portal somewhere inside her mind; one that allowed her to reach for the protective dragon she'd felt in her father's semi-manufactured visions, to feel the warmth of it like a winged cloak around her shoulders. She pulled it into the forefront of her consciousness, just inside her first barrier.

" _Expecto Patronum!_ " she said, flicking her wrist in a motion that, after months of fruitless practice, had become second nature -

There was a flash of silver from the end of her wand, and then a luminescent cat began to saunter down the corridor before them, tail high in the air. After a few paces, it paused and looked back, as if to see if they were watching. A breath later, it turned away and continued on its way, as if it didn't particularly care one way or the other.

"Wow," Gerald said, pushing his glasses further up his nose, "That's very bright - fully corporeal of course -  _and_  displaying semi-autonomous actions. Very impressive, Calista."

She turned her grin on him. "Thanks."

"I knew it would be, once you got it," Gerald continued, and then his tone shifted slightly when he added: "Your charms - well, I'm often impressed by them."

She frowned uncertainly; what had that shift in his tone been? Was he teasing her?

"Thanks," she said again, with less enthusiasm this time.

Gerald sighed, smile fading. "I suppose we should be on our way," he said, and she nodded hurriedly, shoving her wand back into the pocket of her robes. They followed in the direction of the silvery cat; after a minute or two, its brilliance faded, until it was gone, as if it hadn't been there at all.

"Calista?" Gerald ventured, after they had walked several dozen paces in silence; she leading for once, and he trailing slightly behind.

She glanced over her shoulder, and slowed, allowing him to catch up. "Sorry," she said, "Didn't realise I was walking that quickly."

"Oh - that's okay. I was just - I was wondering -" He seemed to choke on his words, briefly, and then: "Calista, is everything… I mean, are you all right?"

"You mean aside from the general fear that there's going to be another attack before we figure out who or what is behind them?"

"Erm," Gerald said, "Yes, I suppose I mean besides that. You just seem - erm, different, lately. Quieter, I suppose. I'm just wondering if anything else in particular is bothering you, and, erm, whether it's anything I could help with?"

 _Yes_ , Calista thought, careful to keep her expression neutral and her gaze straight ahead,  _Something is bothering me. I think I want to date you, and I don't know what to do about it. You could help by cancelling your stupid date tomorrow._

"Oh," she said, after a moment, because there was not a mermaid's chance in the desert she was going to tell him  _that._ Even if she was foolish enough to think she'd be any sort of competition, it wouldn't be fair to Endria. "I suppose it's just - ehm, exams."

She glanced over at him, to see if he believed her explanation for the odd way she'd been acting; she saw his features relax. "Oh," he echoed, "Oh, of course. That makes sense. I'm nervous about that, too."

"Yeah," she said, echoing his relief; it was a reasonable explanation, one she could probably cling to in the coming - what? Days? Weeks? - that it would take her to adjust to the idea of him and Endria together, "Especially - I mean, with everything else going on, you know? The - the Chamber and - and extra patrols, and - things. I suppose I'm just afraid I'm not doing as much revision as I should."

She was struck by a sudden idea; she could let him know, in case he still suspected it, that she  _wasn't_  going to do something embarrassing, something illogical - she wasn't going to start drawing hearts in her notes, or do anything to interfere with his date with Endria.

"In fact," she continued, running with the idea she'd just had, "I think - I think I'll probably skip Hogsmeade this weekend so I can catch up. The library will be quiet, I'm sure I can get through a lot of material."

"Oh! That's a very good idea," Gerald said, brightening; she felt her heart sink. He  _had_  been afraid that she'd - what? Follow him on his date and try to sabotage it, or something? "The library is  _bound_  to be quiet, with most of the school at Hogsmeade, and I could - we could -"

She felt his gaze on her, and she tried desperately to keep everything she was feeling out of her expression; why was  _this_  always the most difficult part of Occlumency? How could she manage to keep her mother's psychic attacks at bay almost subconsciously, and yet still evidently not be able to conceal from a boy the fact that she fancied him?

"I mean," Gerald said, and now his voice shifted again; it had gone softer. "I'm sure you'll be able to make good use of it."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

On Saturday, she decided she might as well do what she'd told Gerald she would; she gathered her books and went to the library. She could catch up on her exam revisions, which she really  _was_  in need of, since so much of her study time lately had been devoted to researching the Chamber, and she could work on her essay for Flitwick about her runic Freezing Charm. She had shown him the spell, of course, but he was very interested in how she had chosen the rune, and which others she had tried and had reminded her earlier in the week that she was looking forward to reading her essay.

She headed for a table near the back, and immediately caught sight of her cousin and his friends, lurking near the Restricted section. She had hardly spoken to Draco since Christmas, but that hadn't stopped his friend Gregory from enthusiastically greeting her every time they met; she wondered if Draco had put him up to it in the hopes that she'd reveal something else about the so-called "secret" spellbooks she'd told them about.

She felt a twinge of guilt, when she thought of that. "Draco," she said, quietly; she supposed it was time for her to come clean.

He and his friends turned, noticing her; Vincent looked immediately guilty, and shuffled off to the side. Gregory's face lit up. "Hi, Calista," he said, instantly. "How's your weekend?"

Draco's eyes narrowed. "Aren't you supposed to be in Hogsmeade?" he asked, "Everyone  _else_  in your year is."

"I decided to stay behind and study," she said, evenly. "I don't suppose I need to remind you three that you can't go in there without a note from a professor?"

"We know," Gregory said quickly, "We were just -"

Draco stepped forward; Calista noticed that she stepped on his friend's toes neatly, purposefully; Gregory winced, and scowled.

"I heard Marcus took Hecate Rowle to Madam Puddifoot's," her cousin said, smoothly, "Any chance  _that's_  the reason you didn't go?"

Calista scowled. "Marcus can take whoever he wants wherever he wants. Even to a stupid, annoying tea shop that  _I would rather swim with the Giant Squid than go into ever again_. I broke up with him. I don't care what he does."

"Dunno why he'd wanna take Hecate," Gregory grumbled from over Draco's shoulder, "Don't like her much. And she's not even pretty, really. Not like -"

"Enough," Calista cut him off. "As clever a tactic as I'm sure you all think this is, it's not sufficient to distract me from realising you were trying to sneak into the Restricted Section on the day you figured all of the Prefects would be away. You're not going in there."

"Well, not  _now_ ," Draco's friend Vincent sulked, looking gloomily somewhere past Calista. "Not now that  _he's_  here, too. Are you two  _always_  in the same place at the same time?"

"What are you -" Calista looked over her shoulder, following his gaze;  _Gerald_ , of all people, was stacking his books on a study table about halfway down the aisle. He glanced up, and their eyes met for a second or two; she couldn't even attempt to read him from here, but - she half-smiled, and lifted her hand tentatively in a greeting. He smiled back, briefly, and then ducked his head, busying himself with sorting through his books.

She fought the rush of heat she could feel trying to fight its way to her cheeks, and tried very hard to normalise her expression, as she turned back to her cousin and his friends.

"What was I - oh. Just - stay away from here if you haven't got a pass, all right?" she said. Vincent scowled and slunk away, but Draco and Gregory continued to look at her; Draco a bit suspiciously, and Gregory - well, a bit vapidly, if truth be told.

"Okay," Gregory said, and he grinned. "I was wondering," he said, "Do you like -"

"Oh come off it, Goyle," Draco said impatiently, "My cousin doesn't care about whatever inane thing is going to come out of your mouth. I've told you a thousand times, you're wasting your time."

Gregory flushed. "I was just gonna ask -"

"I'm not telling you anything else about those blasted books," Calista muttered quietly; Gregory's eyes widened, and then he started to shake his head. His mouth opened, but Calista cut him off, looking at her cousin. "Draco, can I - can I talk to you for a minute?"

Draco looked over his shoulder, aiming pointed glances at both of his friends. "You heard her," he said, and they shuffled away, Vincent looking straight ahead, and Gregory throwing a glance back towards them as he went.

"I'm sorry about them," Draco said quietly, and more than a bit scathingly, "Thick as trolls, the both of them, but at least they're loyal."

Calista frowned, and then motioned for her cousin to sit down at the table where she'd piled all her books; he did, and she followed suit, sitting beside him, and leaning fairly close, so she could speak quietly; she tried very hard not to look past her stack of books and over at Gerald, even though all she could think about was why he was there - and why he  _wasn't_  in Hogsmeade with Endria.

"Draco, there's something I have to tell you," she said, "It's - I really should have told you a long time ago, and I feel badly that I haven't, but - well… all that stuff I told you about the secret spells hidden in books about runes…"

She sighed, and shook her head slightly. "Draco, it's all rubbish. I made it up; I thought it was amusing, but - I really shouldn't have let it go on this long, especially not with - with everything that's been happening here, this year."

She expected denial, or perhaps outrage; although, with Draco, who always tried to act extraordinarily like his father, perhaps a cold disdain. Instead, he laughed.

"Oh, I knew  _that,_ " he said, dismissively. "I'm not an idiot, after all."

Calista blinked. "But you - your friends - you've been hanging around the library, trying to get into the Restricted section…"

"Well, of course," Draco said, "I've been wanting to get in there for  _ages_ to look up curses, and now you've given me an excuse to get those two lumps to help me. It's been a brilliant favour, really -  _they're_  still lapping it all up, of course."

"Why don't you just ask my father for a pass? He gave one to me a few times, when I asked."

"Don't you think I've tried that?" Draco asked, almost scathingly. "Apparently, I can't be trusted to be  _discreet_  enough. It's the same thing Father always says when I ask him to tell me more about the Heir of Slytherin."

"Shh!" Calista said, scowling. The very last thing she needed was for Gerald to overhear, and be reminded that Draco had once been trying to convince people  _she_  had something to do with the Chamber. "You know, I must admit, I'm beginning to see their point."

"Although," Draco mused, "Perhaps if  _you_  asked your father for me..."

"No."

"Oh, come on then," Draco said, matching her scowl almost precisely. "Why not? I'm only suggesting you  _ask_  - maybe drop a line or two about how you've noticed my increasing maturity, or something like that."

"Surely you realise by now that I don't lie to my father."

"You used to be fun," Draco said, and for a minute she thought he might pout, the way he had when he was nine and she'd refused to let him use her wand to try any of the curses she'd told him about. "Now you're just - just like an  _adult_."

"Draco," Calista said, with a quirk of her mouth; she'd just had an idea. "I didn't say I wouldn't help you; I said, I  _don't lie to my father_. You want me to ask him to write you a pass, and tell him I think you've matured enough that you can be trusted with one? Then make it true, and I'll do it."

He eyed her suspiciously. "What exactly would that entail?"

"Well, for starters," Calista said, "Stop using the M-word. And stop sneaking around the castle - that goes for the Restricted section as well as anywhere else you've been trying to get into that you shouldn't."

"Why on Earth should I stop doing any of that?" Draco scowled.

"Do you want to get into the Restricted section, or not?"

He exhaled, and then crossed his arms.

"Fine," he said, "I'll  _consider_  it. I do have to consult with my friends, of course."

"By all means," she said, "But in the meantime, you're not getting in there while I'm here, so I suppose you might as well leave."

She half-expected him to argue, but he didn't; instead, he gathered his friends, and reluctantly, the trio left, Draco in the lead with his nose in the air, and Gregory watching her over his shoulder as they went. She supposed he was trying to see whether she would remain near the roped-off entrance. She waited until they were gone to move from her spot.

She stood, and felt a little jolt of surprise; Gerald was still there, head bent low over a book, with a stack of others beside him. She glanced up at the clock; it was only one o'clock - surely his date wasn't over already? Unless - unless maybe it hadn't gone well - she felt guilty for hoping that might be the case.

She decided that she wasn't quite above asking why he was back already, though she could at least try not to seem like she hoped it had gone badly. She sucked in a fortifying breath, and then walked quickly down the aisle towards him, before she could think better of it and lose her nerve.

He looked up as she approached, and smiled a bit sheepishly.

"Sorry," he said, before she could even open her mouth, "I know you probably were hoping to study here alone, but some first-years were playing Exploding Snap in the common room, and I couldn't concentrate."

She blinked, and slid into the chair across from him, mostly out of habit. "The common room? But, weren't you supposed to - I mean..."

She took another breath, steadying herself, and pushed hair-twirling girl firmly down, before she could get enough of a foothold in Calista's thoughts to put in an appearance. "Are you and Endria back from Hogsmeade already? Or haven't you left yet?"

Gerald tilted his head slightly, and frowned. "I didn't go to Hogsmeade today. I wasn't planning on it, either. I haven't seen Endria today, but I can only assume she's still on her date."

Calista felt like a small firework was going off in her stomach. He hadn't gone to Hogsmeade at all? And Endria - she was still on  _her_  date _?_ He'd said it as if - well, as if it had never had anything to do with him. But part of her - the part that always expected things to go wrong - was certain that she was misunderstanding, that he wasn't saying what she thought he was.

"Well, I thought - she made it sound like - uhm, well, like maybe you were her date."

Oh, gods. Had she really just come out and  _said_  that? Well, it was done… she watched very carefully for his reaction.

His brow furrowed; he looked puzzled, and then outright confused, and then -

" _Me?_ " he laughed, "You thought Endria was going on a date with  _me_?"

She scowled. "I don't see why that's so amusing."

His expression slowly shifted, from amused confusion to outright skepticism. "You… you really don't know?"

"Know  _what_?"

"Calista…" Gerald shook his head, eyebrows practically in his hairline. "Endria's - goodness, I really thought you knew. I thought everyone did. Calista, Endria's gay."

Calista blinked several times, as she attempted to make sense of what he was saying.

"What? That's - how do you know? What makes you say that?"

"Erm," Gerald said, still eyeing her with disbelief. "It's… not exactly a secret? She dated Felicia Lucado for over a year."

Calista blinked, again; she wondered if she could stop. Something dawned on her.

"I used to see them together a lot," she said, remembering now the pretty, brown-haired Ravenclaw girl that had graduated last year. "Outside, by the lake, and… I think - two years ago, on… on Valentine's Day. At that stupid tea shop. I thought - I thought they were just friends."

Now it was Gerald's turn to blink. "Okay," he said, as if she'd asked him a question. He exhaled, slowly. "Okay," he repeated, and then he shook his head again, as if to clear it.

"So - I'm sorry, I just want to be certain I'm understanding this correctly," Gerald said, slowly but not unkindly. "You saw Endria and Felicia together at Madam Puddifoot's on Valentine's Day, but you didn't realise they were together? And you thought - you thought that  _I_  was meant to be going on a date with her today?"

She couldn't look at him anymore; she could feel colour rising in her cheeks, despite her best effort to keep it at bay. She shifted her gaze and stared resolutely at the stack of books on the table between them, pretending to be reading their spines.

"Well, erm," she said uncomfortably, after several long seconds had gone by and she could still feel his eyes on her. " _Evidently_."

"Okay," he said, for a third time. She flicked her eyes up towards him, feeling a spark of irritation. Was it really so hard to believe she'd misinterpreted things that way?

His expression now wasn't so easily readable; his brown eyes appeared to be watching her carefully, but the look of confusion and disbelief had been replaced by something else.

"Right," he said decisively, after a moment. He rose, and started to gather his books, carefully inserting a bookmark in the page he'd had open before him. It looked like their Arithmancy book. "There's something - I think I have enough time, still - something I've got to go and do."

"You're… leaving?"

"For a little while, yes. I'll see you tonight, for our patrol, right?"

"Yes," she said, and she frowned. "You know, if my dad realised we  _both_  didn't go to Hogsmeade, he'd probably still expect us to practice antidotes this afternoon."

"Oh," Gerald said, as he hefted the sizeable stack of books. "That's - I'm sorry, but I actually  _am_  going to Hogsmeade - if they're still open…" he twisted his neck at an odd angle, looking down at his wrist; he twisted  _that_  too, until he could see his watch. "Yes, I expect there  _is_  time - I'll see you this evening, all right?"

She blinked again; she reflected inwardly that at least it was preferable to hair-twirling. "Erm. Okay."

She watched him practically scramble out, gait made awkward by the stack of books he'd taken with him. She frowned, shaking her head, before she reluctantly turned back to her own stack of books.

She didn't have the faintest idea what was going on with him all of a sudden; but she  _did_  know now that he wasn't going out with Endria.

For a moment, she almost felt a glimmer of hope; but then she realised that he had still gone - only now, she had no idea  _who_  it was he was going to meet.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

On Monday morning, Calista wished more than anything that she could just stay in bed the entire day. If she didn't have the responsibility of walking Daisy to her classes, she might have tried to get away with doing just that, despite the fact that Mondays were her busiest day for classes.

The weekend hadn't gone altogether terribly, considering; she  _had_  found out that she'd been wrong about Gerald and Endria, and he'd also been in remarkably high spirits during both of their weekend patrols, which had put  _her_  in a good mood as well.

He hadn't said anything else about their awkward conversation Saturday afternoon in the library, and they'd ended up practising their patronuses in the corridors during slow parts of the night. It was difficult to say which of them had a better handle on the charm; hers was brighter, but his looked to her to be slightly more detailed; she could make out individual feathers on the owl's wings.

The problem, she reflected as she looked up at the ceiling in her dormitory room, willing the day to be over before it had even begun, was that the weekend was now over, and it was  _Valentine's Day_.

She'd never really  _liked_  this particular holiday; when she had been younger, she'd barely noticed it, and then, when she'd been dating Marcus, she'd worried about what she was supposed to do and whether or not anything embarrassing would happen.

Now, she reflected miserably, as she reluctantly crawled out from beneath the covers of her bed, she had to deal with the only thing more embarrassing than having a boyfriend on Valentine's Day, and that was having an  _ex-_ boyfriend on Valentine's Day.

To make matters worse, Lockhart had been dropping hints all week that he had something special planned for the holiday, which Calista interpreted to mean that he had something hideously awful planned; she imagined lurid pink flowers, and house-elves dressed up in cupid costumes, and she shuddered involuntarily while she yanked her robes on over a green dress she hated, because  _of course_  she'd forgotten to put her laundry out again, and all she had left were dresses.

At first, she pulled her hair into a ponytail just to get it out of her face, but on that  _particular_ day, it reminded her too much of all the times she'd done it that way deliberately because Marcus liked it, so instead, she'd taken it down and put in a green hairband that matched her dress.

She decided to put a small amount of cosmetics on, too - mascara and green eyeshadow, like the dress and the hairband - and she told herself sternly that it had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she had Arithmancy class with Gerald later that day.

She trailed reluctantly along the corridors; she and Daisy had done this routine enough times now that Daisy knew enough to wait for Calista outside the doors to the Great Hall if Calista hadn't gone there for breakfast. She took her time, hoping that the younger girl would be out in the corridor waiting already, but she had no such luck.

She waited a few minutes, and then her curiosity got the better of her - she crept up to the great wooden doors, and pulled them open, slowly. She wondered, as she pulled, how close she'd been in her summation of what Lockhart had planned -

Her jaw dropped with horror, as she slipped inside the Great Hall. It was exactly as she'd imagined it, only - somehow -  _worse_. Not only  _were_  there lurid pink flowers everywhere, but there was actual confetti falling from the enchanted ceiling.

She turned around, and went immediately back out the way she'd come - practically tripping over a parade of dwarves - actual  _dwarves,_ decked out in wings and carrying little harps - that were on their way  _in_  to the Great Hall.

When Daisy finally came out into the corridor, Calista hurried her along, more than pleased to put as much distance as possible between herself and the monstrosity that Lockhart had turned the Great Hall into.

"Guess what?" Daisy said, grinning prettily. "I got a Valentine already. It doesn't say who it's from, but I  _hope_ it's from Neville."

"Who?"

"Neville Longbottom," Daisy said, almost dreamily; Calista started.

" _Who_  did you say it was from?"

"I didn't say - I don't  _know_  who it's from, remember? I just said, I  _hope_  it's from Neville. I know he's only in second year, but he's so cute - and he's been so nice to me, ever since I found his toad hiding in my wardrobe."

"Longbottom," Calista repeated, uneasily. "Isn't that -"

 _The boy whose parents my mother tortured insane_ , her brain hissed at her; she pushed the thought roughly aside. "Isn't that a Gryffindor?"

Daisy glanced up at her as they turned a corner. "Yes, he is. Does it… does it matter?"

"Hm? Erm, no, of course not. I was just - curious. Which one is he, again? I mean, what does he look like?"

Daisy hastened to describe him, but with phrases like "warm, sparkling eyes" and "hair like melted chocolate", Calista didn't find the description particularly helpful.

"Erm, okay," she said, after this had gone on for several unbearable sentences, "I think I know who he is now. We're almost to your class."

 _Thank Merlin_.

"Oh," Daisy said brightly, just as they approached the door to her first class of the day; Calista could hear other students chattering inside. "I almost forgot - keep an eye out for those dwarf things today. You're getting a Valentine."

" _What_?"

Daisy nodded cheerfully. "My brother said he was sending you one, 'cause you're always so nice to me. It's not - it's not a  _real_  valentine, or anything - just sort of a friend one. He just thought - well, he told me that since you and Marcus aren't together, he thought it might be nice if you still got one. You can pretend it's from whoever you want to make him jealous, George won't say anything."

"I don't want -  _what_?" Calista shook her head.

"Anyway - class is about to start. See you later, Calista!"

Calista groaned inwardly as she shuffled her way unenthusiastically to  _her_  first class of the morning. Apparently, there  _was_  something worse than having an ex-boyfriend on Valentine's Day - knowing you were getting a pity Valentine. She felt her stomach clench. It had better not - that stupid Valentine - it had  _better_  not come during Arithmancy class. She didn't think she could bear it if one of those stupid dwarves came up to her in front of Gerald -

"Oi, you. Girly. Are you Calista Snape?"

She looked down; one of the dreaded dwarves was right in front of her. She backed up several paces, getting as far away from the doorway of the Defence classroom as she could.

"Yes," she admitted, grudgingly; at least most of the other students were already inside the classroom, and at least Gerald wasn't in this class with her.

"Right, then," the dwarf said, "Here ye go." He reached into a pouch that was slung over his shoulder, and pulled out a folded sheet of paper, handing it to her. At least it looked more or less like normal parchment; she had been a little bit afraid it would be pink.

She opened it up, as the dwarf frowned, digging around in its satchel.

"Had another one for ye too," the dwarf said, gruffly. "Know I did. Can't find it now, though. Have to come back later."

"Oh - no, that's all right," Calista said quickly, "You can just - throw it away, if you can't find it now. I don't want to get it while I'm in class."

"Can't do that," the dwarf said, hoisting the satchel back up on its hairy shoulder. "Have to deliver 'em all, or I won't get paid. I'll get it to ye later, no worries, lassie."

"No," Calista called after the dwarf, but it had already shuffled off and started to accost a Hufflepuff boy, "Please don't come back later…"

She sighed, and looked down at the parchment.

_Hi Calista -_

_I just wanted to say thanks for sticking up for my sister, and being her friend. She's been much happier lately. I think you're a really nice girl, and I hope you get other valentines too, but in case you don't, I just wanted to make sure someone told you something nice today. You deserve it._

_Sincerely, George S._

Well. She supposed it wasn't  _terrible_ , even if it definitely was a pity valentine. She folded it back up, and stuffed it into her pocket, and then squared her shoulders and entered the Defence classroom, as if it were a battlefield.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Two things took Calista by surprise when she walked into her Arithmancy class later that day. The first was that Amelia was grinning ear-to-ear and balancing a positively giant bouquet of roses on her lap; the second was that there was a very pretty arrangement of flowers on the desk where Calista usually sat.

She hovered uncertainly by her desk a moment; had someone else decided to take her seat for the day, and left their flowers there to claim it? But no one was there, now…

"Uhm," Calista whispered, leaning over Amelia's shoulder. "Is that - are those supposed to be for  _me_ , do you think?" Was that the other valentine the dwarf had been looking for, in his satchel? But then, she'd only seen them carrying paper valentines, not flowers…

Amelia shrugged, and sniffed her own bouquet of flowers. "It's on your desk, so I guess so. It was there when I got here though, and I was pretty much the first one here."

She crept closer, as if the flowers on her desk might spring to life and bite her; she noticed a small, printed card attached to them. "Calista", it said, in a scrolled, even typeset that told her absolutely nothing; well, that settled that, then. They evidently  _were_  for her.

"Who else was here?" she asked, glancing at the row ahead, where Gerald and the other seventh-year Ravenclaw boys usually sat; they were all in their places. Gerald's head was bent low over the Arithmancy text.

"I dunno," Amelia said carelessly, and then she grinned. "Aren't you going to ask how my date went?"

"Well," Calista said, turning to look at her friend, "I'm going to take a wild guess that it went - erm, pretty well."

"It was amazing," Amelia declared, "I think I'm in love."

 _I think I'm in love_.

Calista started. She remembered hearing Amelia say that once before… it had been at the dueling club, when… when Endria had soundly beaten Hecate Rowle in a duel. Amelia had been very impressed… so impressed that she hadn't even  _noticed_  what had been going on between Marcus and Gerald…

And, come to think of it - Amelia  _did_  seem to notice a lot of what other girls were wearing, or what they looked like - hadn't she even said, more than once, that Endria was the most beautiful girl in school…?

It was true, Calista supposed, but - it wasn't really a thing girls usually said about other girls.

She remembered something else.

 _I'm going with a Ravenclaw I think you know very well_ , Endria had said,  _Someone you spend a lot of time with._

At the time - of course she'd assumed Endria meant Gerald. But now…

"Erm, Amelia," Calista said quietly, "Your date - it - it wasn't with a boy at all, was it?"

Amelia blinked rapidly, and for a second, Calista was certain she was wrong - after all, Amelia  _had_  once said that she'd had a boyfriend before, in primary school.

"Oh, well done," Amelia grinned. "You  _did_  figure it out, didn't you?"

"Erm - just now, actually. I didn't realise - you  _or_  Endria," she whispered, glancing up just as Endria herself entered the classroom. "I feel… a bit stupid now, actually, that I just assumed before that it was a boy…"

"Oh, well," Amelia said, and Calista could see her gaze following Endria, even as she was speaking to Calista. "Don't feel that bad. I mean, at least with me, it  _could_  have gone either way, right?"

Endria took her usual seat, at Amelia's other side - Calista wondered  _how_  she could have been so completely blind, as she watched Endria nudge Amelia's shoulder playfully.

"Hey, now," the older girl said, with a sly grin, "Who're those flowers from? Anyone I need to be jealous of?"

"Oh, yes, definitely," Amelia said, turning her face away from Calista, and towards Endria, with a mischievous little grin of her own. "Seeing as they're from the most  _gorgeous_ girl at Hogwarts."

Endria bit her lip, just as Professor Vector emerged from her office and strode to the center spot at the front of the classroom. "Really," Calista heard Endria murmur, "Who sends  _themselves_  flowers? That's just lame…"

Amelia whispered something back; Calista couldn't hear what it was, over Professor Vector's instructions for them to pass their essays forward.

It was only when she looked down, reaching for her homework, that she remembered Amelia's bouquet wasn't the only one in the room - the little card with her name stared mysteriously up at her, pinned to the green and blue ribbons that were wrapped neatly around the bundled stems.

The bouquet wasn't as large as Amelia's, but it was very pretty; it was composed of perhaps a dozen bright yellow daffodils, and sprigs of another flower Calista had seen before but didn't know the name of - they were tall, piney-looking stems, with little tufts of purple petals at the ends.

She looked up, again, eyes automatically going to where Gerald sat - and this time, he wasn't bent over his book, but was looking at her, expectantly.

"Hey," Robert Davies said, impatiently, from beside Gerald, "Your homework. Do you have it, or not?"

"Oh." Calista swallowed, and lowered her face, hoping the heat she was feeling in her neck and in her cheeks wasn't translating to an actual blush. "Yeah - uhm, yes, I have it."

She reached for her essay, and hurriedly passed it forward; Gerald practically leapt to take it from her. For a second, she noticed that her fingers were trembling slightly, and she could have  _sworn_ that his were, too.

"Mr. Boot," Professor Vector said loudly, from the front of the classroom, "If that's your homework, it will do much better in  _my_  hands than yours, at this point."

"Oh," Gerald said, and Calista could see his ears reddening as he turned around, "Yes, of course - I mean - it's not  _my_  homework, but - ah, nevermind. Here it is."

He strode to the front of the classroom and handed it to the professor, then hurried back to his seat, and almost immediately hunched over his book again.

Calista fingered the little card with her name on it, carefully turning it over to see if there was anything on the back of it. It was blank. She frowned, and let it fall back into  place. Well, that wasn't helpful.

She hardly heard the lecture; she spent the majority of the class staring at the back of Gerald's head, looking for him to give her some sign that the flowers had come from him - but she couldn't very well react as if they definitely had, when she didn't know for certain.

She imagined, briefly, what might happen if she said something to him - maybe 'I like you, too,' although that didn't really seem sufficient - and he just looked at her blankly. Or - what if they  _were_  from him, but they were another pity valentine? That might almost be worse.

The classroom door burst open suddenly, about ten minutes before the end of class, and in that moment Calista knew exactly what could be worse than mistakenly thanking Gerald for the flowers. The same dwarf that had accosted her earlier, in the corridor, stomped into the room, with a red sheet of parchment clutched in its fingers.

"Oi, where's Calista?" the dwarf said, interrupting Professor Vector's lecture; the Professor looked nearly as unhappy about it as Calista did. "Oh - there you are."

Her efforts to slink lower in her chair so the dwarf wouldn't spot her had failed; he was heading right for her now.

"Found it!" he said gruffly, "Knew I had another one. This one's a poem. Have to read it to you."

A couple of people sniggered; she didn't have the courage to look at Gerald and see how he was reacting.

"Uhm, no," Calista said quickly, clutching the edges of her book; she wished desperately that Apparition worked inside the castle; she was itching to make good use of her newly-acquired license in that moment. "Please don't do that."

She looked frantically to Amelia for rescue, but Amelia was grinning with amusement.

"Right," the dwarf said, squinting at the parchment. "It says - Calista's real pretty, and also she's witty. She smells like flowers, and I like when she glowers - "

Most of the class was laughing uproariously now; Calista stood up and snatched her books and papers off her desk with shaking hands; she grabbed up the bouquet too, without thinking - by the time she realised she was holding it, it would have been even more awkward to put it back down, so she just ducked her head and made quickly for the door.

"Hang on, I'm not done yet," the dwarf said stubbornly, starting to follow her out.

"Well,  _I am_ ," she managed, yanking the door open.

"Miss Snape, we still have ten minutes of class -" Professor Vector started, but Calista was already in the corridor.

"Fine," she called, over her shoulder. "See you in detention, I guess. I'm free Thursday mornings."

She could still hear laughter behind her as the door swing shut. She hunched her shoulders, and walked as quickly and as far as she could, fervently wishing that she  _had_  just stayed in bed for the day.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

She'd hoped to slink unnoticed into her father's quarters, but he was actually in his office when she arrived, grading essays at his desk. She'd forgotten that he had office hours the class period before hers. He looked up when she let herself in, a question on his face.

"Please don't ask," she said, on her way through, opening the door at the other end of the office that led to his quarters, so naturally Severus rose, followed her in, and asked.

"What's happened?"

"I can't go back to class," she said, carelessly tossing everything in her arms on the kitchen table - the flowers, her papers, her textbooks. It was possibly the first time she hadn't handled a book with utmost care. "Not today; not tomorrow. Probably not ever."

"That sounds serious," he said, neutrally. She felt his eyes take an inventory; he nodded, and then walked over to the worktop, and started a batch of coffee.

"Can I please just transfer?" she asked, hopefully. "To another school? Preferably one on another continent?"

"Ah, since you asked nicely - no. I'm certain whatever it is can't have been that - "

He half-turned, to glance at her, and his gaze fell on the table. He must have noticed the flowers; his lip curled into a grimace. "What's  _that_?"

"A hippogriff." She rolled her eyes. "And  _that_  isn't really my biggest problem right now. The stupid - the stupid  _poem_  is."

He turned back to the coffee pot, and busied himself with that for a few moments; then he took down a mug and filled it, setting it down on the table in front of her.

She reached for it, and took a sip, even though it was still quite hot.

"What  _poem_?" Severus asked, mimicking her disgusted tone precisely.

"Those stupid - those stupid dwarves," Calista said, hunching into herself. "Someone - someone apparently told one of them to go into my Arithmancy class, and read this stupid, embarrassing  _poem_  about me."

"Who?"

"Well obviously I don't know, or I'd be reversing their kneecaps right now… My best guess is Olivia, but I suppose Hecate hates me enough now, too."

Severus frowned. "It was an insulting poem, then?"

"No," Calista said, reaching for her coffee again, and taking a long, gulpy sip. "Worse. It was a - a…"

She set the mug down, and wrinkled her nose up in an expression of intense disgust. "A  _love_  poem," she said, scathingly.

"You think Miss Avril wrote you a love poem?" Severus asked, eyebrows raised. His gaze shifted back to the bouquet of daffodils on the table.

"Not a  _real_  one, obviously. It was terrible."

Severus snorted. "Aren't they all?"

"Dad…Ordinarily, I would appreciate the commentary, but I don't think you really understand how awful this is - "

A distant knock at the door interrupted them; Severus practically leapt up. Calista had the distinct impression that he was trying to get away from the conversation. She heard the door to his quarters close, and then a murmur of voices. She lifted her mug and drained the rest of the coffee, and then lowered her face into her hands, elbows resting on the table.

The door opened again, and she heard footsteps approaching.

"I'll just - leave you two to talk," Severus said, sounding extremely relieved; Calista looked up, and blinked in surprise. Amelia was standing in the kitchen doorway. "For -" he crossed the hall, ostensibly checking the clock on the wall in his study, "Ten minutes," he called, from the other room. "And then I expect you both in class, naturally."

Calista groaned. "Seriously?"

Amelia crossed the kitchen and dropped into the chair Severus always sat in; Calista thought it was odd doubly odd to see her there: one, it was odd for  _anyone_  besides Severus to sit in that chair, and two, for all the times Amelia had come to visit her at home during the summer, she'd actually never been inside Severus' quarters. None of her friends had.

"Come on," Amelia said, fighting back a smile. At least, Calista noticed, she'd left her giant bouquet of flowers somewhere else before coming in search of her. "It wasn't  _that_ bad."

Calista raised her eyebrows incredulously. "Yes, it was."

"Nah, people will forget. Eventually. Anyway, you're not the only one - saw that Harry Potter kid on my way here, he was getting a  _singing_ Valentine."

Calista winced. "Well - at least his was probably real, and not some stupid prank. I'll bet anything Olivia was the one who sent that stupid dwarf."

"Oh - no, it wasn't Olivia," Amelia said, "And I'm pretty sure it was real."

"What?"

"He, uh - finished the poem, after you left," Amelia said, and she put her hand up in front of her mouth. It didn't stop Calista from seeing that she was fighting back laughter.

"Amelia,  _nothing_  about this situation is funny."

"Come on," Amelia said, "It kind of is. Anyway - don't you want to know how the poem ended?"

"Not particularly. Unless it was in a fireball that engulfed all of the witnesses.  _And_  the bloody, stupid dwarf. And Lockhart."

"Oh, come on," Amelia said again, "I came all the way here mostly just to tell you -"

"You came all the way here because you have Potions class next."

"Well, yes, that too, I guess." Amelia admitted. "But, seriously -  _please_  let me tell you."

Calista set her face in a stony scowl, and gritted her teeth. "Fine."

Amelia's face lit up. "I don't remember all the parts in the middle," she started.

"Good. I really don't want to hear them."

"Anyway," Amelia finished, "The last line was - 'she can make a potion to cure any boil, I hope some day she'll be Mrs. Goyle'. Isn't that your little cousin's friend, the one who's obsessed with you?"

Calista frowned. "What? He's not  _obsessed_  with me."

"Erm, okay. I don't know what you'd call it, then."

She shook her head, slowly. "He - really? I thought he just wanted me to tell him more about those books…"

Amelia's eyes went wide. " _Wow_ ," she said, "You are - Calista, you're my best friend and all, so please don't take this the wrong way, but you are phenomenally clueless sometimes.  _No one_  hangs around a girl and writes her poems because they want to hear more about  _books._ "

"Well, obviously I didn't know about the stupid poem until now..."

"Except Gerry," Amelia said, thoughtfully, cocking her head. "I bet Gerry would do that."

Calista sucked in a breath, and leaned forward. "Was he - Gerald - was he laughing? About the... the stupid poem?"

"Erm, pretty much everyone was," Amelia said, sheepishly, "Not at  _you_ , really, the poem - it was just so bad, you know? But - actually, come to think of it, I don't think he was. 'Course - I'm not really convinced he even  _has_  a sense of humour."

"Of course he does," Calista said quickly.

Amelia reached across the table, and pulled the flowers across it; she picked the bouquet up and inspected it. "These are pretty, though - are they from Goyle too?"

She lifted the card to check the back, like Calista had already done, and shrugged when she saw that it was blank.

"I don't know," Calista said, in a defeated sort of tone, "I -"

She was interrupted by Severus' reappearance in the doorway; he gave them a pointed, impatient look. Calista rolled her eyes, but Amelia leapt dutifully to her feet.

"I was sort of hoping," Calista whispered to Amelia, as they followed Severus out through his office, "That they'd be from - erm, someone else. But with my luck, they probably  _are_  from Goyle."

Amelia turned her head quickly, eyes going wide. " _Who_  were you hoping -"

She paused, as Severus opened the outer door to his office, and held it, allowing them to pass through.

"Who were you hoping they were from?" she whispered, once they'd passed him.

Calista swallowed, and shook her head. "Erm - no one. Never mind."

She and Amelia went to their usual seats; to their credit, Penny and Percy at least tried to hide their amused smiles behind their hands.

"Do you reckon we're going to make a boil-cure potion?" Penny whispered, eyes sparkling with mischeif.

Amelia pinched her arm, sharply. "Ow!" Penny whispered, fiercely. "What was that for?"

"Leave Calista alone," Amelia said, "Or I'll take that valentine you got from Percy and read it to everyone out loud."

Immediately, Penny and Percy both stifled their laughter, and leaned studiously over their cauldrons, faces going an identical shade of crimson.

"Silence," Severus said, smoothly, as he glided to the front of the classroom. "Today's lesson will require your utmost concentration; we'll be crafting a very powerful poison, called - the Kiss of Death."

"Wow," Amelia murmured sardonically, near Calista's ear, "I had no idea your dad was such a romantic."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

"I suppose you can force me to go to class," Calista said reproachfully, as she followed her father through his office and into his quarters after class, "But you can't force me to go into that horrid vomit explosion Lockhart's turned the Great Hall into."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Severus said, grimly, "I don't particularly want to go, either. I'll have something sent up for us."

They entered the kitchen, and almost in unison, they paused; the bouquet was still sitting in the center of the table, a bright yellow beacon.

"I'll - erm, move that," Calista said, crossing the little kitchen in one stride, and lifting it off. She looked at it almost wistfully - she had hoped, for a few brief moments this morning, that it could possibly have come from - well, it didn't matter what she hoped, did it?

"I suppose they must be from Draco's friend," she said, flatly; she wasn't sure why she was telling him this. "Amelia said he's the one that - that send that stupid dwarf."

She glanced up; her father had a peculiar expression on his face, and his eyes were locked on the flowers in her hands.

"What form, precisely," he asked, "Did you say Mr. Boot's Patronus took?"

Calista blinked; it was such an unexpected and irrelevant question that she answered without thinking, almost immediately. "An owl," she said, tilting her head. "Why?"

"No reason," he said, silkily, stepping around her towards the table. "Move your books, please."

She shifted the flowers to one arm, and quickly cleared the rest of her things from the table with the other; Severus waved his wand once the table was cleared, and a platter of food appeared.

"I'm really not very hungry," she said, frowning.

"Humour me," he said, dryly. She hovered near the doorway, still balancing her books and the flowers, looking unconvinced.

"Eat," he said, a bit more kindly, "And then - I think I may have some books for your research."

"Can we just skip dinner and go right to the books?" she asked hopefully.

"I think you know the answer to that question."

She sighed, and set her pile of things down on the worktop, before slipping reluctantly into her seat at the table and reaching halfheartedly for a sandwich.

"Which research, anyway?" she asked, in between bites, "Runes, or the Chamber?"

"Ah - I think I have some selections that might interest you regarding multiple topics."

She forced down the rest of the sandwich, goaded by the promise of new books; true to his word, Severus retreated to his study after they had finished eating, and returned with a stack of four or five books, which he set on the table in front of her.

"I have essays to mark," he told her, "I'll be in my office for a few hours at least - you're welcome to stay here as long as you wish, of course."

"Okay," she said, taking the top book off the stack - it was a historical survey of runic rituals. She flipped to the index, feeling slightly cheered already, despite the awful day she'd endured. "Thanks for the books."

"You're -" Severus paused; she glanced up. There was a funny expression on his face, and then he nodded, as if he had decided something. "I think you'll find them - informative."

She furrowed her brow, and opened her mouth, to ask him if something was wrong - but he turned, abruptly, on his heel, and she heard his footsteps striding quickly away, his office door opening and closing.

After a minute, she shrugged and turned back to the book, pulling it closer, and curling her legs underneath her on the chair, much as she used to do when she was younger.

It turned out that she had already read about the majority of the rituals in the first book, but there were some interesting sources listed that she thought might be worth pursuing. After writing a couple of notes, she set that book aside and reached for the next one -

She frowned, recoiling from the title.  _The Language of Flowers_? He must have picked that book off the shelf by mistake - it had nothing to do with any of the topics she was researching, and her extracurricular interest in Herbology was essentially limited to its crossover material with Potions.

She set it aside, and looked to the next one, and felt her face scrunch up with a mixture of confusion and disbelief.  _Another_  plant book? This one was thinner, and appeared even less interesting.  _Identification Guide to Flowering Desert Plants_.

She checked to see what other books were in the stack - two more books on runes, and one Latin-based spellcraft. At least  _those_  all fit - where the hell had the Herbology books come from?

She picked the first one up again, and flipped through it skeptically. It  _wasn't_  really a proper Herbology book, though, once she looked at it more carefully. It - well, it appeared to be some sort of translation guide, for the symbolic meanings associated with certain species of plants. She had no idea why her father had given it to her, but  she was struck with a sudden idea.

She scrambled off the chair, and crossed to the worktop, picking up the flowers and carrying them back to the table. She flipped to the index of the book, running her finger down the page - there.  _Daffodils - page 48._

She flipped quickly through the pages, before she had time to think what a stupid idea this was, and change her mind. There wasn't much to the page - a colour photograph on the page, a paragraph of historical and literary appearances, and then - the symbolism associated with it. She sucked in a breath, and read the short line of text -

_Symbolizes: Unrequited love, uncertainty, friendship turned to romantic feelings; also used to express the question, "Do you share my affections?"_

She felt a strange flutter in her stomach.  _Friendship turned to romantic feelings_ \- it could be - but then, it could  _also_  be Goyle, she supposed - after all, hadn't his stupid poem referenced flowers? Of course it wouldn't really be…

She flipped through the book, looking for a picture that matched the purple flowers, since she didn't know the name of them, but even though there were a few flowers in the book that were similar, she couldn't find one that matched exactly. She frowned, and then her eyes fell on the other book.

 _Identification Guide to Flowering Desert Plants._ Well, she supposed the purple flower  _could_  be a desert plant. After all, she could tell that it was definitely something that wasn't native to Britain; she wasn't sure if she'd even  _seen_  it before, or had only seen an image.

She opened the book. Luckily, it was a fairly thin book, so it shouldn't take too long - there.

She stopped on a page about halfway through, with a picture of a plant that looked remarkably similar.

 _Castilleja exserta._  the caption read.  _This plant is native to the deserts of the Southwestern United States, and includes varietals known by the common names Indian Paintbrush, and Owl's Clover._

Calista's breath caught;  _Owl's clover_?

What was it that Severus had asked her, earlier that same evening -  _What form, precisely, did you say Mr. Boot's Patronus took?_

She looked back at the bouquet, and examined it more closely, as if it might offer another clue. She fingered the card again, and this time, she pulled out the pin that anchored it to the bouquet, and and turned the card over in her hands, even though she already knew it was blank - but, actually, it  _wasn't_. In the top corner, where she wouldn't have been able to see it by simply bending the card upwards, there was something very tiny. Was it a set of initials, perhaps? She lifted the card closer, and inspected it.

It wasn't a set of initials; it was something even better, even more definitive. She felt her face spreading into a slow smile.

It was a pair of runes, drawn almost impossibly small - Latin runes, which almost no one would know were her favourite.  _Noct_ , for owl. And…  _Felis_ , for cat.

She was so overcome with a powerful feeling of hope, and something else she couldn't quite name that she all but forgot about the awful poem, and the humiliation it had caused.

It even took her nearly a full minute before it occurred to her -

Her father had obviously had an idea who the bouquet was from, without even seeing the runes - without knowing about the conversation she and Gerald had had in the library on Saturday, without seeing his hands tremble when he took her Arithmancy essay from her earlier that day.

 _How_  had he figured it out, she wondered, and more importantly, why the  _hell_  had he given her the very books that would allow  _her_  to do so?

She gave herself another minute to absorb what she had learned - and perhaps to hold the flowers with every bit as much reverence as she normally reserved for very rare books - before she set them down and marched into his office, to ask him.


	13. Chapter 13

As soon as Calista crossed the threshold to her father's office, she gravitated towards the chair in front of his desk; it was habit, but it was a comforting one.

Severus looked up, quill poised over a stack of essays. The stack looked fairly small, so she guessed it must be for a N.E.W.T. level class, which had far fewer students than other years. She leaned forward, trying to read the student's name upside-down.

"Is that my class?"

"Seventh year."

"Oh. They get to choose which potions to work on, right?"

"You know that they do," Severus said, evenly, meeting her gaze. "And we both know that you didn't come in here to talk about essays."

"No false pretenses with you. All right, then - if that's how you want it - why did you give me those books?"

"As I said, I'm certain they'll aid your research. You  _are_  working with Latin runes, correct?"

Calista raised her eyebrows, and regarded him shrewdly. "I think you know which books I'm referring to."

"Of course I do," he said snappishly, setting the quill down on top of the stack of essays, and leaning back slightly, "And I had hoped that my simply giving them to you would suffice as an explanation, but - as usual - you delight in making things more difficult than they need to be."

"Well, obviously, there are multiple possible explanations..."

"Name them."

"Well,  _I_ was hoping to work up to them gradually, after discussing something neutral for a few minutes to put us both at ease. But yes,  _I'm_  the one making things more difficult."

"Well, so long as you can admit it."

"Dad." Calista exhaled, and looked down at her lap, where she had her fingers tightly interlaced, in an attempt to steady herself. "Seriously, though. I mean - the first explanation I can think of is that - perhaps you don't entirely hate the idea of -" she swallowed. "Of what might happen if - if I figured out the flowers, and if - if I also… erm, feel the same about…him."

"An interesting theory," Severus snarled softly, "And what others have you come up with?"

"Erm - well, actually. That's the only one I can think of. But - since that's about as likely as you buying me another cat, there has to be another one I'm not seeing."

Severus' mouth pulled down into a grim frown. "I bought you that wretched cat," he said, finally, voice nearly as low as a growl, "Despite the fact that I knew I would bitterly regret it, because I  _also_ knew it would make you happy."

"So then - so you think -" Calista took a fortifying breath. "You think - that being with Gerald would make me happy?"

"That's probably a poor question to ask now that I'm reminded of how much I detest that cat," he said, almost sulkily.

Calista raised her head again, and regarded her father carefully, trying to read his expression; he noticed, and picked up his quill, the snap of irritation evident in his movements.

"So I notice," Calista said quietly, "That both of us tend to respond with irritation when someone gets too close to the truth of something before we're quite ready for them to do so."

Severus was scratching a mark across the top of the essay. She squinted, and saw that it was an 'O'. She leaned forward; the handwriting looked familiar -

She bit back a small smile; maybe she was reading too much into things, but it was Gerald's essay.

"I don't dislike Mr. Boot," Severus finally said, eyes still on the marked essay. "And I don't dislike the friendship you have with him. It's plain that his  _friendship_ already makes you happy. Perhaps of greater importance, it's -" He swallowed. "Healthy. I think you... help each other."

"His friendship," she echoed. It was something she had thought about a lot, when she'd believed that he might be dating Endria; how to preserve their friendship despite her unrequited - she'd believed - feelings for him. It had seemed very important to her; it still did. "That is - that does make me happy. It's… he's… well, I suppose one of my  _best_ friends."

"I know."

"There are," she said, carefully, "Certain things we - erm, share. Things that… other people wouldn't really understand."

"I suspected as much."

She looked up, and blinked twice. "You did?"

"There were certain indicators," Severus admitted quietly; he still wasn't moving Gerald's essay off the top of the stack.

"The same ones I have," Calista said, finding herself suddenly very interested in the shelves behind his desk, filled with vials and flasks of neatly labelled potions.

"Both of you display them less and less," Severus said quietly. "The decline has been - particularly marked - in the last few months. You also - both - have shown improved academic performance, and frankly, the pair of you have become the most dependable Prefects the school has. You work more patrols than anyone else, and even the Headmaster has noticed that many of the younger students look up to both of you."

Calista exhaled, her shoulders relaxing with the shift in topic. She looked back at him.

"I don't know what I'm going to do next year, after he graduates," she admitted. "I can talk to him about things -" she shook her head, not wanting to revisit that topic so soon. "Research and things, too. It's almost impossible for me to spend time with him and not feel better afterwards than I did before. But - well, like you said... "

She leaned forward slightly, feeling her features pinch with concern. "This has all been while we were - while we've been - friends. And now… now part of me - most of me - feels another way, and I don't know if…"

She pressed her lips together into a line, mulling through the reservations she was feeling; sorting through the nerves and the hopes and the words they'd already said.

"I suppose what I'm getting at," she said softly, "Is that - Marcus and I were friends, before we were anything else. And now… now we're not."

"You and Flint," Severus said, and there was a hard tone he couldn't quite cover, or didn't bother trying to. "Were never the same sort of friends as you and Mr. Boot."

"Well, isn't that what I'm afraid of?" she asked, nearly in a whisper. "I don't need - I don't need to be friends with Marcus, the way he's been acting. But if Gerald and I ever  _weren't_  friends, I don't know if I could stand it."

Severus moved Gerald's essay aside, and looked down at the next one; she could see the tip of his quill moving back and forth slightly in the air above the parchment, as he read. Once, he frowned; but she didn't know if that had anything to do with the essay.

"Dad?" she asked, after nearly a full minute of silence had stretched between them. "What would  _you_ do?"

Silence marched forward again. Severus scrawled an 'E' at the top of the essay, and set it on top of Gerald's.

"I don't know," he finally said, at length, "That I am the best person for you to have this conversation with."

"If I thought I could talk to Aunt Narcissa about this," Calista said, darkly, "I would have done it weeks ago - but I can't ask her for advice without her asking who it's about, and I - I don't want to hear her say anything bad about Gerald just because he's not a pureblood. I don't care about that."

"I know you don't," Severus acknowledged, "And while I agree with your assessment that you would meet some initial resistance," he said, " _I_  am not a pureblood, and both Lucius and Narcissa respect me. By the same token - neither are you, and yet they both care for you very much. But - ah - actually…I didn't mean for you to talk to Narcissa."

Severus made a small noise in his throat. "I meant - perhaps you should discuss your concerns with Mr. Boot. I would be very surprised if he did not share them."

"Oh." Calista considered, and then nodded. "I guess that does make sense. So then..."

She paused, until her father looked up; when their gazes met, Calista forced her words out in a rush, as if lingering over them too long would cause some sort of jinx.

"If I do - if  _we_  do - decide to start dating -"

Severus swallowed, and she thought his jaw tightened, but otherwise he didn't react.

"Same… same rules as before, I assume?"

"That seems - reasonable," Severus said, "Ah - with one exception, I suppose."

 _Of course_ , Calista thought, but kept her expression clear,  _There's always an exception - ironically, it's usually another rule._

"Given that you share several patrol routes, and frequently study together, it seems illogical to prevent you from being alone in the castle together. _W_ _ithin_   _reason_ , of course. I trust you have the ability to judge what is and is not reasonable?"

She nodded. "Yes - but can I ask for one  _other_  exception?"

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You may ask."

"Please, can you refrain from threatening to poison him?"

Severus quirked a brow. "Well, as I believe Mr. Boot himself told you - it would hardly be effective, considering his proficiency with antidotes."

"All right then - please refrain from threatening him at all."

"Unless something in his personality or treatment of you changes drastically," he said, doubtfully, "Then I don't suppose it will be necessary - but if it  _does_ become so, I cannot promise anything."

Calista sighed, and then nodded. "I suppose that's really the best I can hope for, from you."

"Speaking of threats," Severus said, and she could have sworn she saw the corner of his mouth turn up in something akin to a smirk, 'It might interest you to know that I haven't seen Flint in a single detention for bullying since - well, since the evening before the dueling club, I believe."

Calista smiled. "Good. You know, apparently, I can be very fierce."

"Ah, yes," Severus said, drily. "Fierce. Precisely the word I always hoped to be able to describe my daughter with."

Calista's smile slipped wider, into a sly little grin. "Actually, I'm fairly certain you mean that."

"I suppose I just might."

She stood up, and he lowered his gaze again, to the stack of essays.

"It's the oddest thing," she said, thoughtfully, hand on the doorknob that would lead her back to his quarters, "But this wasn't - it wasn't actually terrible talking to you about this."

"I suppose," he said, "That's really the best I can hope for, from you."

She grinned. "Good night, Dad."

"You're sleeping here tonight, then?"

"Well, I can't go back to the Slytherin common room - I'm too afraid."

"Afraid of what?" Severus asked, instantly alert.

She raised her eyebrows, and wrinkled her nose. " _Poems_ ," she said, scathingly.

Severus exhaled, shaking his head slightly. "Good night, Calista."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Tuesdays, Calista didn't have any classes or patrols with Gerald - in fact, it was not at all abnormal for her to go the entire day without even catching sight of him, unless she glimpsed him in the Great Hall. The day after Valentine's Day, though, she couldn't possibly go there, for fear of encountering another rogue poem - or its author. She wondered if simply ignoring Goyle's advances would make them go away, and for the time being, it was really the only plan she had.

Now that she had passed her Apparition lessons, she had first period on Tuesdays free. Normally, she used the time for studying, but though she woke early, and was already hunched over a book and a sheet of parchment at the table when Severus walked into the little kitchen in the morning, she wasn't exactly working on homework.

"I saved you some coffee," Calista said, without looking up; a half-empty mug sat by her elbow, still radiating warmth. Her hair was still damp from the shower, and she held a pink coloured pencil, which was Severus' first sign that she wasn't working on any of the sorts of things she usually did - he wondered if he'd ever seen her use that particular colour for anything in all her life; he saw that she had the book he'd given her last night, the floral translation book, open on the table, and with great effort he refrained from striding over to see precisely what she was drawing.

"Well, I do think it's the  _least_  you could do, considering," he muttered instead, taking down a mug and pouring the remainder of the coffee into it.

"Mm, probably," she agreed, concentrating on her drawing. As soon as he sat down at the other end of the table, she set it aside, and closed the book, placing it on top of it; well, if he had thought to steal a glimpse at it while they ate, there was no hope of that now.

Severus waved his wand at the table, summoning a platter of breakfast foods and a pair of plates. He opened his mouth, prepared to bark an order for her to eat something - but before he had the chance, she was reaching over to fill her plate. He raised his eyebrows as she not only filled it, but proceeded to eat everything on it without prompting.

She may not have had a class first thing, but  _he_  did - second-year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. So, as soon as he'd finished eating and cleared the table, he'd said a quick farewell to his daughter, once again fighting the urge to look at her drawing; he could see her hands poised to return to it, but she waited until he'd left the kitchen. He could hear the rustle of the parchment, the riffle of pages as she re-opened the book, as soon as he left.

As soon as her father had gone, Calista examined her work critically. She really could have done  _without_  the pink, according to her personal preferences, but - she'd checked through the book several times, and there was only one flower - the carnation - that meant, when presented in a solid colour,  _yes_. None of the other colours would work at all; yellow meant rejection, purple meant unfaithfulness, white was 'true love' and red was 'passion' - two things that sounded far too serious, far too heavy to describe exactly what she was feeling.

Pink wasn't ideal, either:  _Longing, A woman's love_ , the book said, but it was better than any of the other colours, and the important thing she was trying to say was, indeed,  _yes_. She made certain to fill the flower in completely, so there could be no mistake that the colour was meant to be utterly solid.

She had drawn an intricate network of leaves around it, with a few scattered blossoms thrown in; she'd had to copy the details, painstakingly, from the book, since the plant she'd found with the perfect symbolic meaning was another one that she had not encountered in person: ambrosia, another plant native to the Americas. This one's meaning was listed simply as:  _Your affection is reciprocated._  She supposed it couldn't get much clearer than that.

She'd drawn in one more cluster of flowers; white pear blossom, with waxy green leaves:  _Deep or everlasting friendship_. She considered adding a daffodil, too, since one of the meanings given was 'uncertainty', but decided against it in the end.

She closed the book; she didn't need a reference for this last piece. She knew all of the symbols by heart.

She put the coloured pencils away, and picked up her quill, and along the bottom of the image, she scrawled a series of runes:

 _Loquium,_ talk.  _Locum,_ place.  _Libris_ , books. Then she added the Latin rune for the number seven. She folded the parchment as soon as the ink was dry, and slipped it inside the envelope she'd taken from her father's desk earlier in the morning. She sealed it, and then on the front drew one more rune:  _Noct_ , owl. The same one he had used in miniature on the back of the card.

She looked up, craning her neck to see the clock on the wall; she had perhaps a half hour before her History of Magic class, and since she didn't keep much for clothes in her father's quarters, she'd thrown on the same dress from yesterday. She gathered her things, except for the bouquet; that, she left on top of the chest of drawers in her old bedroom, next to the little witchfire light that Severus must have replaced again.

Mercifully, no one stopped her on her way through the Slytherin common room, and there was no one in her dormitory room. She  _still_  hadn't set her laundry out, so she was resigned to wearing a dress again; but perhaps, considering, that wouldn't be a terrible idea, today. She chose the one she disliked the least, a lightweight yellow one with a full, flowy skirt; over it, she pulled on a set of school robes she hardly ever wore, mostly plain black but edged with yellow ribbon and cut in a way that accentuated her figure - what little there was of it - and also allowed some of the yellow dress underneath to peek through.

It was an outfit that Narcissa had delighted to see her in, when they'd bought it, but one she hadn't ever worn together since then. Narcissa had also picked out a pair of gold-tone high-heeled shoes to go with it, but Calista was firmly drawing the line  _there_. There was no boy she liked enough to hobble around on her tiptoes for; and anyway, she and Gerald were already more or less the same height; being taller than him would feel awkward, and she was certain she'd feel enough of  _that_  already, this evening - if he came. She slipped her feet into her favourite black flats, instead.

Narcissa had sent, among the packages at Christmas, a barrette with a yellow bow on it; Calista used this now to pull part of her hair back, leaving the rest down, and then she used a hand mirror to carefully apply some of the cosmetics that Narcissa had sent; gold eyeshadow, dark brown eyeliner, even some of the hated mascara, and a soft pink colour on her lips. It was the most that she had ever applied herself, though her aunt had certainly caked more of it on her on several occasions before.

She tried not to scowl at herself - at the finished product - in the mirror. Was she pretty? She didn't really think so, not with her long nose and her sharp cheekbones - but she'd done the best she could, and Gerald obviously either thought she was anyway, or didn't care that she wasn't. She spritzed on a bit of the only perfume from Narcissa that she could stand, the apple blossom one, and then checked the time - she had about two minutes to make it to class. She grabbed her books, carefully tucking the envelope for Gerald into the front cover of her History of Magic text, and took a deep breath, preparing for what she was certain would feel like one of the longest days of her life.

She slipped into her seat next to Amelia in Binns' classroom the second the bell rang, though she doubted the professor would have noticed if she  _had_ been late; after all, he apparently still hadn't noticed that he was dead.

"The political climate at the time of Merwyn's rebellion was quite tense," he said, in a reedy monotone; Calista couldn't even  _try_  to pay attention today. She started drawing runes on the edge of her notes… she realised, after a minute, that all of the ones she'd drawn, though they were from various alphabets, were for  _owl_ , and she fought off a blush.

"Hey," Amelia hissed, from her right; she glanced over.

"You look really pretty today," Amelia whispered, and then she narrowed her eyes, suspiciously. "Why?"

Calista did feel herself blushing now. She frowned. "No reason," she whispered back.

"You're not - " Amelia paused, and smiled sweetly and vacantly ahead, as Binns' gaze swept across their row. As soon as his attention shifted, she leaned over again, eyes narrowing once more. "You're not going to actually go out with that second year, are you?"

Calista's eyes widened in horror, and then narrowed dangerously. "Are you bloody  _mental?_ Of course I'm not!"

Amelia chuckled softly. "Just making sure. Seriously, though, are you actually wearing a dress for the second day in a row?"

"Shut it," Calista whispered; she fingered the edge of the envelope in her textbook. Maybe this - all of this - was a bad plan.

"Miss Slater, Miss Snape," Professor Binns said, thinly, "Is there something you'd like to share with the rest of the class, regarding Merwyn the Magnificent?"

"Nope," Amelia said brightly, just as Calista muttered, "Definitely not."

"Then kindly keep your voices down and pay attention," he said, neutrally, and then he picked up where he'd left off as if the interruption had never happened.

The class period seemed to go on forever; when it was finally over, Calista had drawn a page full of runes. Some of them, at least, were not owls, because she'd deliberately tried to stop drawing them.

A great number of them still were.  _Great_ , she thought,  _I'm no better than Gwen Pierce after all._

"Are you coming to lunch today?" Amelia asked, hurrying alongside Calista as they left the classroom, "I'm thinking of coming over to the Slytherin table to sit with Endria - but probably only if you're there, too, so I don't have to sit next to someone who acts like I'm covered in dung or something."

"Erm, no," Calista said, "I'm sorry, I can't. Not… not after yesterday, not yet. I'm going to go eat with my Dad."

"Oh," Amelia said, mildly disappointed. "All right, then. I guess - I guess maybe I could see if Endria wants to come sit at the Ravenclaw table."

"I bet she will," Calista said, encouragingly. "Or if - if you did go over to the Slytherin table, she wouldn't let anyone bother you; she's really good about that kind of thing. Or, if anyone  _does_  bother you, just tell me, and I'll give them detention after."

Amelia grinned. "I forget, sometimes, that you're not as stuffy about that kind of thing as Penny is, or Gerry. Yeah, all right - that could maybe work. Thanks."

"Sure. Erm… Amelia? Can I - can I ask you to do something for me?"

"'Course. What is it? Do I get to hex anyone?" she asked hopefully.

"Not exactly." Calista paused, stepping back to the edge of the corridor, and Amelia followed suit; she waited until the rest of the class had streamed past them, pretending not to notice a questioning glance from Penny. "Can you… uhm…"

She slipped the envelope out of the cover of her textbook, and held it out, trying to steady her hand; suddenly, her fingers wanted to tremble.

"Can you - erm, give this to Gerald?" she asked, quietly, "And - and  _please_ , whatever you do, don't open it."

Amelia frowned, a puzzled expression crossing her features. "Of course. But you could just come to the Great Hall and give it to him yourself. Or give it to him tomorrow, even, don't you patrol together?"

"Yes."

Amelia looked down at the envelope as she tucked it into the front of one of her own textbooks, and pursed her lips. "Is it something about the Ancient Runes homework, then? I haven't finished it either..."

"No," Calista said, quietly, keeping her face carefully blank. "It's not - it's not homework."

"Then why - oh!" Amelia was looking at her intently; suddenly, her face lit up in a grin. "Please tell me this is something to do with it being Valentine's Day yesterday."

Calista blinked. "You… want it to be that?"

"Are you kidding? It'd be  _perfect -_ you and Gerry? You could get married in a library, and -"

"Shh! Amelia, what is  _wrong_  with you? And anyway - I thought  _you_  said he wasn't interested in that kind of thing, because… because of school…"

"Yeah, well, I  _thought_  that," Amelia said, hurriedly, excitedly, "But you know, I saw him going into the florist Saturday afternoon in Hogsmeade, and - and come to think of it, he was  _awfully_  interested in hearing about why you and Quidditch boy broke up, a few months back…"

"He… he was?"

"Yeah. At the time, I just thought it was - well, you know, we were  _all_  kind of excited, none of us liked him that much by then - 'specially not Perce. But Gerry - Gerry was  _really_ curious."

"Why the  _hell_  didn't you ever tell me that before?" Calista whispered, urgently.

"Well, I didn't really think of it like that. Calista, that  _is_  what this is, right? You're blushing."

"I am not - and it's none of your business…"

"It  _is_!" Amelia crowed, triumphantly. "I can't believe - I don't even know if I can  _stand_  how annoying the two of you will be together. Like Penny and Percy -  _worse_ , even, I'll bet."

Calista blinked again, and hushed her friend. There was no one else in the corridor at the moment, but - still. "Stop it. We're not - we're not together -"

" _Yet,_ " Amelia grinned slyly, and tapped the edge of the envelope sticking out of her book.

"And I don't understand - are you happy at the idea, or annoyed?"

"Well, both, of course," Amelia said, shaking her head slightly, as if the answer should have been obvious. "Just like with Penny and Percy - except, you're quite a bit more fun than them, so maybe you'll even get ol' Gerry to lighten up a bit -"

"I think he's just fine the way he is," Calista said stiffly, defensively; she could feel that Amelia was right, she  _was_  blushing.

"Wow," Amelia said, eyebrows going up to her hairline. "And I thought  _you_ were clueless - I can't believe I missed this. I guess I was too busy obsessing over Endria - well, don't worry. I'll  _make sure_ Gerry gets this… and I'm going to tell him how  _cute_  you looked, blushing furiously, while you handed it over to me -"

"If you tell him that," Calista said, as fiercely as she could, "I will  _hex your ears off_."

Amelia only grinned in response, evidently not feeling at all threatened. "Well - I'd best be off - important delivery to make, and all."

"I am  _seriously_  beginning to regret asking for your help with this," Calista said, hearing the alarm in her own voice.

"Nah, you don't mean that," Amelia said casually, clutching her books - including the one containing Gerald's envelope - to her chest, and starting down the corridor again. After a few paces, she paused, and glanced back over her shoulder. "Oh - by the way, Calista, you really  _do_  look very nice today."

Well; that made her feel slightly better. She managed a weak smile. "Thanks," she muttered.

Amelia turned away again, and hurried down the corridor. "I really will hex you if you say anything stupid to him," she called, after her friend; Amelia snorted rudely, and kept going. Calista sighed; obviously they both knew she didn't mean it. Maybe she wasn't really as fierce as everyone seemed to think.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Calista was too nervous to eat lunch  _or_  dinner, though at lunch she at least humoured her father and took a few bites of a sandwich in his quarters. At dinner, she knew she wouldn't be able to manage even that; instead of going to her father's quarters or to the Great Hall, she went back to her room, and nervously checked herself in the mirror. She reapplied the pink lip colour, and then mostly just paced back and forth until a few minutes before seven.

She barely paid attention to anything on her trip to the library; it was certainly a trip she made often enough that she knew the way without thinking. She had only two thoughts the entire way there, this time:  _Will he be there? What if he's changed his mind?_

As soon as she stepped into the library, she felt a flood of relief, and a flutter of nerves, simultaneously: he  _was_  there, sitting at a table in the back, near where they usually met for their Chamber research. It was strange, seeing him there alone, without a stack of books at his side. She hadn't brought any with her, either; because of it, she didn't know quite what to do with her hands.

He stood up as soon as he caught sight of her, and smiled nervously; she felt her heart speed up - there was something about it, he looked so sweet, so -  _adorable_  - how, exactly, had it taken her so long to admit that to herself?

There were a few other students in the library, studying or whispering to each other. Most of them were younger, and luckily none of them really seemed to be paying attention to the two of them. Still, Calista glanced around at them as she approached Gerald, calculating whether any were close enough to overhear them. A trio of third-year Ravenclaws might have been, but it was hard to tell.

"Hi, Gerald," she said quietly, mirroring his uncertain smile.

"Calista," he said, and then nothing else for several seconds.

"Erm - " Calista glanced towards the table of third-years. "Maybe - maybe we should go somewhere even more quiet…"

Gerald nodded, and then glanced towards the roped-off Restricted section. Calista felt her smile widen, slightly; that was perfect. There didn't look to be any other sixth or seventh years, who would be allowed to follow them in. She nodded, too.

Gerald stepped over to the rope and unfastened the end of it, allowing Calista to pass through; she heard him take a quick, indrawn breath when she slipped past him, and then he followed her in, closing the rope off again, and stepping far enough in so as not to be in direct sight of anyone looking through the doorway.

It was somehow reassuring to be surrounded on all sides by books; Calista exhaled, and felt herself relax slightly, though she still acutely felt a tingle of nerves.

"Amelia gave me your note, obviously," Gerald said, quietly. "I'm glad... I mean, you must have figured out the flowers. I wasn't certain if it was too cryptic or not, so I - that's why I added the runes at the last minute. But then, you answered the same way, so -"

He smiled. Calista couldn't help but mirror it. "Actually," she admitted, "I really didn't figure it out. My dad had a book - he gave it to me - and I had to look them all up. I mean… I was  _hoping_  the flowers were from you, but until I saw the book, I wasn't sure."

Gerald's smile widened. "I'm glad you were hoping they were from me. The - erm, the poem wasn't, though." He added this last part quickly, smile faltering slightly.

"I know," Calista winced, slightly, remembering. "Amelia told me about - the end of  _that_."

"Yeah," Gerald said, "I - I felt awful, for you. I could tell you were embarrassed, even though it's obviously not your fault. It's… it's sort of a difficult thing to deal with."

"I'm not, so far," she said, "I've been - well, I've just been ignoring it, and hoping it goes away."

"It won't, I'm afraid," Gerald said, ruefully. "I don't know if you've ever heard anything about - erm, well, anyway, it's happened to me before, and in my experience, you have to say something, or it just… gets worse."

"I was afraid that might be the case," Calista admitted. Then: "So… so the story I heard, about Gwen Pierce - that was true?"

Gerald frowned slightly, and nodded. "I don't know precisely what you heard, but yes, most likely."

"Amelia said that you told her you didn't want to date anyone while you were still in school," Calista said, a bit uncertainly. "I thought - well, let's just say, I've had that idea in my head."

He shook his head. "Yeah - maybe that wasn't how I should have handled that. I just - I didn't want to seem cruel, but I also really didn't want to go out with Gwen."

"Yeah," Calista said, "I suppose I know what that feels like, now. Erm - with my cousin's friend, I mean."

Gerald nodded a bit, and then sucked in a breath. "Erm," he said, "I'm sorry, but - why are we talking about this?"

"Because I'm terribly nervous about discussing - about discussing the reason we came here, and my response to things that make me nervous is generally to avoid them as long as possible," Calista admitted, with almost uncharacteristic honesty.

"But you did come," Gerald said reasonably, "So you  _do_ want to discuss it, right?

She took a deep breath, and then let it out. She nodded, quickly.

"All right," Gerald said, exhaling slowly as well. Then his tone shifted slightly, and it was like they were discussing the Patronus charm, or their Chamber research, or - anything else, really. It put her a little more at ease.

"This doesn't - I suppose this doesn't really need to make either of us nervous," he said, at last. "Everything right now is still exactly the same as it's been, more or less. We're - Calista, you've become my best friend, and I'm very happy about that. If we decide - if you think - things are best left this way, I would understand, but..." He swallowed audibly. "But I can't deny that some of my feelings for you have evolved beyond friendship, and with the exception of the way things were when you evidently thought I might be interested in someone else, I've picked up on certain…  _hints_ … that you might... erm, that you might feel the same way about me."

"I do," she reassured him, quickly; she concentrated on keeping her expression neutral, hoping it could prevent her from blushing. She was a little bit afraid that once it started, hair-twirling girl might take over, and she might not be able to stop. "I definitely do."

He'd given her an opening, though, into the most significant misgiving she had about changing the dynamics of their relationship, and she seized on it before she could lose her nerve. "That's what I'm afraid of, though, a bit. Like you said, Gerald, you're - you're one of my best friends. I  _really_  value the friendship that we have, and I… I don't know if I could stand it if we ever  _didn't_  have that."

"I don't think I could, either," he admitted. "I can't - I don't have anyone else I can talk to the way I can talk to you."

"Not just about…" Calista started, and Gerald nodded, quickly.

"About everything," he supplied. "I mean, we both flip to the index first, of a new book. I don't know anyone else who does that."

She felt herself smiling, again, despite the weight of everything that was riding on this conversation. "Neither do I. It's - it's really the best way, though."

Gerald grinned. "I wholeheartedly concur."

"So… so what do we do, then?" Calista asked, uncertainly. "I want - I think you know that I'm also interested in, uhm, more than friendship, but…"

She sighed, and shook her head. "I really didn't want to bring him up in this conversation, but... I was friends with Marcus, before I ever - before anything else, and - and now I'm not, and I don't think I ever will be again. That's - it makes me a little sad, but that's one thing, and... and losing  _your_  friendship would be something entirely different. Something I'm not prepared to do."

"I'm not prepared to lose what we already have, either," Gerald said, very sincerely; at least he didn't seem upset that she had mentioned Marcus. Although she didn't want to, she could easily visualise the way Marcus' face would have twisted up with jealousy if Gerald's name had come up in a conversation like this between  _them_. Of course, she'd never really  _had_  a conversation like this with him, so she couldn't quite picture how it would have gone, and she realised she didn't care to, either.

"I've never - erm, I've never been in this situation before," Gerald admitted, continuing, "So perhaps things seem deceptively simple to me, but it seems to  _me_  that if we both agree our friendship is important to preserve, we can find a way to do so, no matter what else may or may not happen."

"That does make it sound deceptively simple," Calista agreed, "But I suppose that doesn't necessarily mean it's incorrect."

"I'm perfectly prepared to take things quite slowly," Gerald said, inclining his head slightly. "In fact, considering that all of this is almost entirely new to me, I think I'd prefer it. As far as I'm concerned, I just - I wanted to find out if we were on the same page, but there's no need to rush into redefining what we already have. I suppose it could be... like a second draft of an essay. We might see that something doesn't quite fit, and we make small changes. Small steps forward, or... or backward, or even sideways, if that's what feels right in a particular situation."

Calista felt herself smiling again, lightly. "That all sounds very nice," she said, hesitantly, because he'd brought another of her concerns to the forefront of her mind. "But - and I'm sorry to do this again, but I think I have to. It's just that, in my experience…"

At least she was managing not to mention Marcus explicitly. She pressed on, even though it was an uncomfortable topic, because she already knew that  _not_  addressing it would eventually become even more uncomfortable. "Just agreeing to 'take things slowly' never really worked out the way I'd hoped, before. Two people can have - erm, very different ideas about what that means."

"Well, then," Gerald said, and he was frowning slightly now. "Two people probably should talk about that, and make sure they reach an understanding that works for both of them."

"Well, that's sort of the thing," she said, feeling slightly nervous again; she didn't know quite how to interpret his frown, but she pressed on, anyway: if they really were considering this, she didn't want to repeat all of her prior mistakes. "It's easier said than done, I think. I've - I've thought, before, that there  _was_  an understanding, but then - but then, it turned out that the other person didn't have the  _same_  understanding I did, and erm - I think - didn't really want to hear about it."

Gerald was quiet for a minute. Then he sighed. "Right," he said, "It seems to  _me_  - and I very well could be misinterpreting what I saw before, and what you've just said, so please correct me if so - but it seems to me as though y- as though one person tried to set limits that the other person chose not to respect, and that's not… Calista, that's not a misunderstanding, that's… quite frankly, I think that's a betrayal of trust, and that's wrong for them - for anyone - to do."

She bit her lip, and let her eyes wander away from Gerald, to peruse the titles on the shelf by her head - she wasn't really reading them, though; she realized she had no idea what any of them even were.

"Is that - do I have something of the right idea?" Gerald asked, after a brief silence, and she nodded, still not looking at him directly.

"Erm, yes, I think it was something like that, maybe, although I'm not sure it was always _deliberate_."

"Well, I think that things like limits and trust are very important," Gerald said, and suddenly he was reaching for her hand; she let him hold it, and found that once he was, it was easier for her to look at him. She did; his eyes were very kind, and also very _steadfast_. She couldn't think of a better word than that. "Perhaps… perhaps even more so, for people like us."

She nodded; she knew what he was saying, and she agreed. Moreover, she was grateful that he hadn't said it any more explicitly than that. "Yes, I think that's probably accurate," she agreed.

"Even if nothing changes," Gerald said, quietly. "Even if we stay just friends - we both have the right to set limits, for things that make either of us uncomfortable, or things that we don't like, or even things that we're just not certain about. This - this right here, if you didn't want me to hold your hand," he squeezed it gently, as he continued, "Or even if you just weren't  _sure_  if you wanted me to, you have the right say so, and I would have to stop. The same thing in reverse, too, if there was something  _I_  wasn't sure about."

"I know," Calista said, "I know that's the way it's  _supposed_  to work. It's just - you know, in my experience, it doesn't always. And… sometimes it's hard to  _say_  that you're… not sure. At least, I think so. Oh, this is definitely okay, by the way," she said, squeezing his hand back.

"Good," Gerald said, "I'm glad it is. But, you know, if it wasn't, I promise I wouldn't do it anymore. And I hope you  _will_  tell me, when you're not sure about something."

"I'll try," she agreed, "And - erm, the same thing for you."

He nodded. "So then," he said, "is there anything else we need to discuss?"

She considered. "Yes," she said, after a moment. She stepped closer to him, still holding his hand. "Do you - after all of that - do you still want to try being… something more than just very good friends?"

"Yes," Gerald said, almost immediately. "I do. But if  _you_  don't…"

She stepped closer again; now she was close enough… she was close enough that they could have easily transitioned into a kiss, if either of them leaned forward just slightly. "I do," she said, for the second time since they'd stepped into the little nook that was the Restricted section. She could feel her heart fluttering again, but she wouldn't exactly describe the feeling as a bad thing. "I - Gerald, I  _definitely_  want to be more than just your friend - as long as I can still always be that, too."

He nodded, quickly, but it was no less sincere for that. "Of course. Always."

She could feel his hands trembling, slightly, through the fingers of her own hand; or was it hers? Maybe it was both of them. She lifted her eyes directly to his, cautiously, prepared to redirect her gaze instantly if she picked up on something by mistake, something she wasn't supposed to - but it didn't happen. She could see that he was pleased, and, she thought, mildly concerned, or perhaps just nervous - which was entirely understandable, she felt the same. She  _didn't_ , she noticed, pick up on anything that wasn't readily evident in his face, and she was extremely relieved by that.

"Okay, then," she said, with a small, hopeful smile. "That's settled."

Gerald swallowed, and nodded again; she saw his mouth twitch. The look in his eyes - it was  _definitely_  nerves, and it had just increased tenfold.

"So… so I could be reading this completely wrong," she ventured, and for some reason she was absurdly pleased to be able to truthfully say that, "But if you're wondering if it's all right to kiss me… it is."

His cheeks flushed with colour almost immediately; behind his glasses, she saw him blink several times. "I - I want to," he said, voice slightly strained. "But I - I've never… and I'm… I don't want you to think I'm hopeless…"

"I won't," she promised him, succinctly. "But how about if I… if  _I_ kiss  _you_ , instead? Would that be all right?"

"Yes," he said, nodding, "Yes, that would be infinitely more than all right."

She lifted her free hand to his shoulder, setting it there gently, and squeezing it reassuringly: almost precisely how she had in the corridor, when they'd each shared part of their pasts, and again in the aftermath of the Dueling Club, when she'd wanted to set him at ease so she could heal his broken nose.

He fell silent, as soon as she touched him. A beat later, his shoulders relaxed slightly. She leaned in close, still holding his hand, keeping her other hand on his shoulder, and then -

She kissed him, softly, her mouth pressing against his for only two or three seconds, at most, and she felt something unfurling inside her, something warm and tender and sweet.

She pulled back partway, and she knew - or rather, she could guess, because she still wasn't picking up on anything that wasn't plainly written on his features - that he was feeling something very similar.

"I think," Gerald whispered, uncertainly, "I think that I might be ready to try that myself, if it's all right with you."

She felt her mouth smiling, of its own accord. "Yes," she told him, trying her best to control it, to rein her mouth back in, so he could get to kissing it. "That would be infinitely more than all right."

He sucked in a breath; she could hear it shuddering, slightly.

"You don't have to be nervous," she told him, even though she still was, too; and even though technically this wasn't new to her in the same way it was to him, it still  _felt_  entirely different, entirely new, from what she'd experienced before. "At least that's what I think I'm supposed to tell you, but the truth is, I am too."

This seemed to make him feel a bit better; a ghost of a smile flitted across his features. "Strange, I suppose," he said, "That shouldn't really make me feel any  _less_  nervous, and yet, it does."

"So," she said, a bit slyly; she squeezed his hand. "Do you want me to - to kiss you back, or just let you - erm, try on your own?"

"Uhm," Gerald said, and he swallowed. "The - the first one, I think."

She nodded. "I'll give you a second, first."

He nodded too, and she suppressed a giddy little grin; she didn't know if hair-twirling girl was in charge now, or if they'd merged into one and the same, but it didn't matter. She was enjoying this, and truth be told, even though she  _did_  want to put him at ease, she was finding the manifestation of his nerves - particularly the blushing - not only reassuring, but also almost unbearably sweet.

He squeezed her hand back, again, and leaned forward, closing the small bit of distance between them, and closing his eyes as well. She closed hers, too; that was what you did, after all.

She felt his lips on hers, hesitant at first - trembling - and then she squeezed his shoulder again, reassuringly, and he pressed a little harder. It felt like a fountain of butterflies was welling up inside her, suddenly. Even though she'd been kissed probably hundreds of times during the course of her relationship with Marcus, it had never - not once - felt  _exactly_  like this.

She felt him start to pull away, just slightly, as if he were uncertain, and she remembered that she had said she would kiss him back. She quickly honoured that promise, before he had completely withdrawn, and pressed back, gently. She knew by now the things that she was supposed to do, but she let herself imagine that this was all new, that she was kissing a boy for the very first time; she let her lips find the softest spots on his, turned her head slightly to explore different angles, and she felt him doing the same thing.

When they separated again after a moment, Gerald's face was furiously red; she smiled at him, for what felt like the hundredth time. "You're certainly a quick study," she told him, because her heart was racing from the truth of  _that_  statement, "And you're  _impossibly_  cute, right now."

He smiled back, and exhaled. He took another breath, deep and steadying, and some of the colour started to gradually fade from his cheeks.

"You're an excellent tutor," he murmured, "And also," he swallowed. "Beautiful. Almost - it's a good word - _impossibly_ so."

"I don't know about  _that_ -" she started, but he interrupted her, bringing his free hand up to hers, where it rested on his shoulder; incredibly, they were  _still_  holding hands, and somehow it didn't feel odd.

"Yes, you are," he told her, steadfastly and matter-of-factly. He was winding his fingers through hers, pulling them gently off of his shoulder. "Amelia warned me that you looked amazing today, and I thought - I thought I was prepared, because you  _always_  look that way, to me, but  _today_ …"

He was holding onto both of her hands now, and he brought the newly acquired one slowly up to his mouth; he curled her fingers over his, and kissed them, softly. "Today… I'm sorry, I know this is corny, but _today_ , you look like a princess in a story; like you're not even real."

"You're right," Calista said, carefully; she felt like she might literally melt, in that moment, if such a thing were possible, and she remembered just in time that she was supposed to think that was a very stupid way to feel. "That is almost  _impossibly_  corny. And you're - you're coming dangerously close to making me actually like it, and I'm not - I  _don't_  like mushy, romantic stuff."

She wondered if the effect of her little speech was ruined by the grin that was threatening to erupt; she controlled it, with a very concentrated effort, but it was too late. Gerald had undoubtedly seen it, and he was grinning too.

"Well, that's unfortunate," he said, mildly, "Because I think  _I_  rather like it; and I'm certain that I like the way it's making  _you_  blush, for a change."

Damn it; he was right. She could feel the heat pulsing in her cheeks.

He lifted her hand again, and kissed it again. If she was blushing before, she thought her face must be almost literally aflame, now.

"I said - I said 'close to making me like it'," she said, wavering slightly. "I still think it's corny."

His grin broadened. "I think I'm going to take that as a challenge," he said.

"Oh, no," she groaned, half-heartedly. "All right, there's one thing, though."

"Yes?"

"You have to  _promise_  me," she said firmly, "No poems."

Gerald considered. "All right," he said, "No poems. Anything else?"

"And no songs," she remembered to add.

"All right," he said, but he still didn't look too bothered by her restrictions; he was still grinning, and he still held her hand up, very near his mouth.

"Absolutely nothing in verse," she clarified, remembering suddenly his brother's proclivity for loopholes, and imagining that Gerald was probably fairly good at finding them himself.

"All right," he said, for the third time. "You're not making it easy, but you know, the most difficult assignments are usually my favourite ones."

"Of course they are," she said, fondly. "They  _would_  be."

"Well," he said, kissing her fingers for a third time; he certainly seemed more than comfortable with  _that_  sort of kissing. "You know, those are usually the ones I get the highest marks on, too."

"All right, so I don't like the romantic stuff," Calista admitted, "But I do kind of like when you talk about it like homework. Is that completely mental?"

"Probably," Gerald said happily, not seeming the least bit bothered by it.

"Speaking of homework," Calista started, but she was interrupted, suddenly, by a pinched, irritated voice, just outside the doorway of the Restricted section.

"Who's in there?" Madam Pince asked, and her head poked through the doorway, peering it; Calista started. Gerald must have too, because he let go of her hands almost immediately. "You'd better have a pass - oh."

She frowned, looking disappointed. "I suppose you two are allowed. But you'd better not be up to anything  _funny_  in here."

"Not at all," Gerald said, smoothly. "I assure you, we wouldn't - either of us - dream of it."

"Hmph," she muttered, sounding unconvinced; nevertheless, she drew her head back, and they could hear her shuffling away.

"Maybe something corny," Gerald whispered, "But never something funny."

Calista laughed.

"All right, now you've made me a liar," he said, shaking his head slightly. "Perhaps we _should_ vacate, though, now that we've been discovered."

"I suppose." He stepped aside, to let her pass first again. She heard him take in another breath, although it didn't sound as tense as it had earlier.

"You know," he said quietly, following her out, "As awful as that poem was, you  _do_  smell like flowers. Very nice ones."

"I think it's apple blossom," she said, "The perfume. My aunt got it for me. She gets me a lot, but this is the only one I don't hate."

"So… so what you're saying is," Gerald said, with a clever little grin, "Is that you have a _preference_  for it."

She blinked, and looked over at him, blankly. "Erm. I guess so?"

"Never mind," he said, quickly. "It's - erm, that's just what the symbolism is. Sorry - that was corny, too."

"Oh," she said. "I didn't know that. Don't apologise for… for being  _you_ , though." She flicked a little grin back at him. "How's  _that_  for corny?"

"There's erm, a kernel of wisdom to that -" Gerald began, and Calista snorted, shaking her head.

"Let's not start that," she said, hastily.

"Fair enough," he agreed, as they walked down the main aisle of the library; behind the desk at the front, Madam Pince was glaring at them, for daring to talk, but she hadn't quite gotten annoyed enough to speak up yet.

"So," Gerald said, as they reached the doorway, and went out into the corridor, "What were you going to say about homework?"

"Oh," she said, "It's - well, I know you said it wasn't the real reason you didn't want to… erm, to date someone before, but it  _is_ your N.E.W.T. year, and we both have a pretty heavy course load. I was just thinking, we probably should be careful not to let… things… affect our academic performance. Not least of all because my father will be very cross with us both if it does."

"I completely agree," Gerald said, relieved. "In fact, I'm glad you brought that up, because I was  _also_  thinking that we do share a lot of responsibilities, too. Tutoring, and our patrol routes - and, of course our research - I'd like to make sure those don't suffer, either."

"Exactly," she said, happily. "I'm glad we agree. Actually, I - I couldn't really imagine any of this going any better."

"Neither can I," Gerald admitted, glancing slyly at her as they started down the corridor, "And I've done a lot of imagining."

That made her smile, yet again; she wondered if she had ever done so quite this many times in a single day - a single hour, really.

"So, erm. Where are we going, anyway?" she asked.

"Oh," he said, "I was planning on walking you back to your father's office - force of habit, I suppose."

"Did he tell you you had to do that?" she asked, suspiciously.

"Well, not this time, specifically," Gerald said, a bit sheepishly. "He, erm - did ask me to make sure you always got back safely after patrols, though and, erm, he said not to let you walk through the corridors alone at night."

She scowled. "I'm annoyed," she said, "But not surprised. I  _can_  take care of myself. I wish he'd realise that. I'm sorry he's making more work for you."

"Oh, I never minded," he said, quite sincerely. "It was a very good excuse to spend more time with you."

She smirked. "Would you like another excuse?"

"Erm. Yes."

"I was too nervous all day to even attempt to start the Arithmancy homework," she said, "Would you like to work on it together, until my Astronomy class?"

"Funnily enough," Gerald said, as they descended a staircase down to the dungeons, "I had the exact same problem. I'd love to."

"We can go back to the library," Calista said, "Or actually, we could use the Potions classroom since we're already nearly there."

"Your father won't mind?"

She shook her head. "Not if it's me. Honestly, I think he likes when I hang around down here. He gets the opportunity to badger me that way - "

There was a sound up ahead, suddenly, around the corner they were nearing - a rustling in the corridor. They both heard it; Calista's hand went immediately to her pocket, fingers clutching at her wand. Gerald did the same thing, except that he  _also_  stepped quickly in front of her, raising his wand arm in just such a way to effectively block her from whatever was before them, just as he had in the library for a sound that turned out to be Bethany the fourth-year. She scowled, just as the source of the sound turned the corner -

"Oh," Gerald said, quickly lowering his wand, "Sorry, sir, I didn't realise it was you."

Severus quirked a brow. "Nevertheless, Mr. Boot, vigilance is always appreciated. Especially," he said, sliding a sly, searching glance between them, "When it stands to benefit my daughter."

"Really," Calista said, scowl deepening. " _Both_ of you would do well to remember that I'm not completely helpless.  _I also got an O in Defence_ ," she reminded them, "And I'm not useless at dueling -"

"I know," Severus and Gerald both said, in unison. She couldn't see Gerald's face, but she did see Severus' eyes flicker towards him, and then - damn it, was her father  _smirking_?

"You're very fierce," Severus reassured her, mouth quirking. "I wouldn't dream of suggesting otherwise."

"Personally, I really wouldn't," Gerald said, glancing back at her; his expression was as steady, as sincere as ever. He turned back to Severus. "She is. You should see how terrified of her Flint is, these days."

"Well," Severus said silkily, "I think we can all agree, that's for the best."

Gerald laughed; Calista choked.

"What?" she sputtered, "No. This is not - you two are  _not_  -"

"I should - I should go get my things," Gerald said, at least making the effort to neutralise his tone. "I'll meet you back here shortly?"

"On second thought," Calista said, quickly, "I think maybe we  _should_  go back to the library."

"Nonsense," Severus cut in, smoothly. "The Potions classroom is empty; you can study there."

"Only if you promise to leave it," she shot back, very close to sulking, "Otherwise, I think I might poison  _myself_  - we've still got the Death Cap Draught, yes?"

Severus' eyes narrowed.

"Don't worry, sir," Gerald called, from somewhere behind her. "I still remember the antidote."

"Well," Severus said, gaze shifting to Calista; his dark eyes glittered. "Isn't that convenient?"


	14. Chapter 14

It was hard to tell, really, who was more excited about the idea of Calista and Gerald - Calista herself, or her friends. She'd been practically swarmed by Amelia, Penny, and Percy the second she reached the top of the stairs in the Astronomy Tower.

"Gerry came back to the common room around eight-thirty," Amelia announced, immediately, "And he was  _blushing_. He said he was going back to meet you again, but he wouldn't tell us anything else."

"Well, then what makes you think I will?" Calista asked, thankful for the cover of darkness so her friends wouldn't be able to see easily if  _she_  started blushing, too.

"Well, let's not forget that I played a very important part in this whole saga," Amelia said importantly. Calista rolled her eyes. "Yes, a part an  _owl_  could have accomplished."

"You drew the rune for 'owl' on the front of the letter you had Amelia give to Gerry, didn't you?" Penny spoke up, "Isn't that his Patronus?"

"Yes…Amelia, did you tell the whole  _school_  about that?"

"Of course not," Amelia said, "Only Penny -"

"I told Percy," Penny admitted.

"And Endria," Amelia added. "I hope she tells Marcus Flint. I love drama."

Calista scowled. "Well,  _I_  don't. You don't - you don't really think he'll do anything stupid, do you?"

"So, then," Amelia said, slyly, "There  _is_  cause for drama? What were you and Gerry  _doing_ , the last three hours?"

"If you  _must_ know," Calista said, loftily, because it was was the truth, "Arithmancy homework."

Percy and Penny exchanged a knowing look; Penny smiled, and Percy busied himself with polishing the lens of his telescope.

"What was that about?" Calista asked, suspiciously.

"Oh, it's nothing, Calista," Penny reassured her. "If you and Gerry  _are_  going to start dating though, I'm very happy for you. He's a  _very_  kind person. Not like that awful Quidditch player."

"And," Percy volunteered, glancing up from rubbing at a possibly imaginary spot on his lens, "Since Gerry's a top student, you'll actually have things to talk about. That's what I - well." he flushed slightly, and smiled shyly towards Penny. "I think that's very important. Very rewarding."

"You're worried about whether they can talk about  _school_?" Amelia raised her eyebrows. "Who cares about  _that_ , when you first start dating someone?"

"I do," Calista, Penny, and Percy all said, as one.

Amelia snorted. "Well, frankly, you're all boring.  _I_ care about the kissing."

She grinned, and Calista could have sworn she was blushing too, even in the dark. She opened her mouth to say so, but then Professor Sinistra was clapping her hands for silence, and advising them all to look for Mars.

"So," Amelia whispered, when the professor was out of earshot, " _Did_  you kiss him?"

"That's none of your business," she whispered back, but Amelia nodded, satisfied.

"You did," she said, happily. "You  _so_  did."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Calista frowned into her wardrobe in the morning. She  _still_  hadn't set anything out to be washed. She did that first, separating her favourite trousers and blouses out from the mounting pile at the bottom of her wardrobe. Then she added the yellow dress and robes from the day before just in case. Her mind flashed back to what Gerald had said, the night before.

 _You're beautiful_ , he'd said,  _Almost - it's a good word - impossibly so._

She grinned to herself, suddenly replacing her frown. She even  _almost_  didn't mind that she was going to have to wear a dress for the third day in a row, since that was all she had clean.

She already looked forward to their Wednesday patrols, but now she could hardly wait. She was glad she had both Charms and Ancient Runes that day; at least she never had trouble paying attention in either of those classes, and that would help her get through the day. She had decided to turn her essay about the wandless rune magic in to Professor Babbling as well, and tucked it into the cover of her book. Perhaps she'd turn it in to Flitwick today too, instead of waiting for her Independent Study period on Friday.

She hurried out of her room, clutching all of the books she needed for the day; she thought she probably had only a few minutes to make it to the Great Hall in time to meet Daisy at the end of breakfast and walk her to her first class.

"Calista!" Someone said brightly, when she was about halfway through the common room. She turned her head, and her heart sank.

"Oh - erm, hello Gregory."

For once, he was alone, rather than glued to her cousin's side.

"Draco asked me to come get his Defence book. He left it in our room… but I was  _hoping_  I'd get to see you, if I came back up."

"I am sort of in a hurry," she said, quickly. She didn't think she was prepared to deal with his eager expression, at least not first thing in the morning. "Erm, say hello to Draco for me, all right?"

"Okay," he agreed, and then: "Did you get my Valentine?"

She winced; well, there went her hopes to avoid this situation for the moment.

"Uhm, yes, I did," she said, "Gregory, that…"

She sighed. "I'm sure you worked very hard on it," she forced herself to say.

He nodded, eagerly. "I did. It took me  _ages_  to figure out what I could rhyme with 'flowers'."

Oh, gods. She wanted to scowl at him, to call him up on embarrassing her in front of her entire Arithmancy class, but she knew it wouldn't be very nice, no matter how tempting it was. She tried to imagine how Gerald might handle this situation; he was always very patient, especially with the younger students.

"Right. Erm - the thing is, Gregory, I… erm…I think you're a very nice  _friend_ ," she added emphasis on the word, "But I'm... well, I'm too old for you."

It was true, but it was also very lame, as far as excuses went. Still; it was what she'd come up with, in the moment, to try and preserve his feelings.

"I'm thirteen already," he said, very quickly, "And I know you're not even seventeen until next month, because I asked Draco when your birthday was and he told me."

"Uhm… that's not really…"

"And I know how to kiss a girl," Gregory supplied, still talking very quickly; it was possibly the most rapid speech she'd ever heard from him. "I kissed Millicent Bulstrode a bunch of times, and she said I was good at it."

Calista bit the insides of her mouth; she wanted to laugh, but she thought it might hurt his feelings.

"Well," Calista said, carefully. "It sounds like you and Millicent have a lot of fun. Don't you want - wouldn't you rather be with her?"

"Nah," Gregory said, easily. "You're more interesting. And older. And prettier. And I'm pretty sure she likes Draco now, anyway."

"Okay," Calista sighed. "Gregory, that's all very nice of you to say, and I'm glad we're  _friends_ ," she stressed again, "But I'm afraid that's as far as this is going to go. I don't... I'm very sorry, but I can't go out with you."

His face fell. "What about - what about when I'm older? I'll be fourteen next."

She bit the inside of her mouth again. "I did realise that," she managed, "But I'm sorry, the answer is still going to be no."

"Oh." He frowned, and looked down at the ground. "Maybe, then -" he sighed, and looked up. "Maybe I  _should_  try to get Millicent to like me, then. If you're sure you won't change your mind."

"I'm sure," she said, and then she added quickly, encouragingly: "But it sounds like Millicent already  _does_  like you. I think talking to her is a very good idea."

He perked up, slightly. "I wonder," he said, "What rhymes with 'Millicent'..."

"Erm, about that," Calista said, shifting the weight of her books to her other arm. "Before you write any more poems to a girl… you should probably find out whether she  _likes_  poems. Some… some girls don't."

"Really?" he asked, eyebrows knitting together. "What do they like instead?"

She considered. "Well. Everyone's different. You could always  _ask_ Millicent what she likes."

He frowned. "I don't know. What do  _you_  like?"

She reflected, again. She thought of Gerald's flower puzzle, of the runes, of the conversation they'd had in the Restricted section of the library, of the companionable evening they'd shared working out the formulas for their Arithmancy assignment, not quite touching, bent low and close over the textbook, both - she was certain - feeling a potential between them that was palpable enough to fill a cauldron, but both content to let it simmer, for the moment.

"Homework," she said, and Gregory made a face like he'd just been force-fed an entire lemon.

"Eugh," he said, shaking his head. "Maybe… maybe you're right. Maybe we wouldn't have worked out."

She bit her lip, barely stifling a grin. "I have to go," she said, firmly. "Go find Millicent."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Calista practically tripped over a younger Gryffindor girl in the library, when she arrived for her patrol.

The girl was crouched in front of a low shelf, running her fingers along a row of titles; Calista noticed her just in time, and stopped short.

"Oh - sorry," she managed, sidestepping. The girl looked up; she had a mass of frizzy brown hair, and Calista thought she looked vaguely familiar.

The girl must have thought so, too; her eyes narrowed, and she immediately regarded Calista warily. She stood up, bringing a book from the lower shelf with her, and her eyes swept over Calista, landing on the Prefect badge.

"I suppose you're going to try and give me a detention like that other one did yesterday," the girl said, stiffly and a bit shrilly, like she was nervous. "But it's  _not_  past curfew, and I'm  _not_  out of bounds. Professor McGonagall dismissed it."

Calista blinked. "I know you're not. Why would I give you a detention? Unless - unless you  _are_  doing something you're not supposed to. Researching forbidden potions, perhaps?"

She'd meant it in a half-joking manner; she was thinking of Bethany and her love potion. The girl started though, eyes going wide.

"N-no," she said, and then she lifted her chin, and her voice came out much more firmly. "Of course I'm not."

"Well, then," Calista said reasonably, managing - she hoped - to hide the evidence of her newfound mild suspicion. "You've got nothing to worry about. I'm sorry I nearly tripped over you - I wasn't really paying attention."

The younger girl blinked, uncertainly. "Oh - that's all right, then. I probably was in the way, a bit. I was just - homework, you know? Researching something very exciting."

Calista smiled, despite her vague uneasiness with the girl's initial reaction. "I  _completely_  understand," she said, "Which class, if you don't mind telling me?"

"Erm," the girl said, shifting slightly. "It's not exactly one I'm taking yet. I was thinking of signing up for Ancient Runes, and I wanted to take a look at some materials before I decide…"

"Oh, Ancient Runes!" Calista's face lit up. "You've  _got_  to take it, it's fascinating. But actually, these here aren't really the best books to start with. I could… I could recommend a few, if you'd like?"

"Oh!" the girl said, looking pleasantly surprised. "Yes, actually, that would be very helpful. I've heard very good thinks about Maven Ellis - do you know if the library has any of her books?"

"We probably do," Calista said, "But, honestly - most of her books are just recycled material from other writers. Check her sources sometime, you can learn a whole lot more by just reading them directly. Now, Lovenworth - she cites him a lot, and _his_ works... some of them are more historical, but when he focuses on runes, he's very informative. Come here, I'll show you -"

She slipped between the stacks, guiding the younger girl to a section that she knew more or less by heart, and started carefully removing volumes from the shelves.

"Here's a good Lovenworth to start with," she said, handing a medium-sized green volume to the girl, "And this one. The book itself isn't altogether enthralling, but again, the references are helpful. Ah, and this one's a very good starting point, you might look at this first."

She set  _Ancient Runes Made Easy_  carefully atop of the girl's newly acquired pile of books. "It's much more interesting than the title makes it sound, trust me."

"Thank you," the girl said, and then, cheeks turning slightly pink: "Erm. I'm sorry if this seems rude, but... aren't you the Snape girl?  _Professor_ Snape's daughter?"

Calista nodded; she was used to this reaction from younger students now, when they first met her. "Most people, though... they just call me Calista."

Since Kim and her friends had graduated, the nickname  _Snapelet_  had finally fallen out of favour, except among her roommates - a fact for which Calista was exceedingly grateful.

"I'm Hermione," the girl said, cautiously. "Hermione Granger."

The name pricked at Calista's memory; she knew who the girl was, now. She was Harry Potter's friend; the one that Draco had made disparaging remarks about. The one that…

"You were just in the hospital wing, weren't you?" Calista asked, "For quite some time, from what I heard. Isn't that right?"

Hermione's cheeks turned pink again, and she lowered her head slightly. "Yes. I'm - I'm woefully behind now, in studying. I don't know  _how_  I'll fare on my exams. I expect I'll be living here, in the library, between now and then."

"Well," Calista said, "There are peer tutors, you know, for different classes. I know Professor McGonagall has several volunteers - my friend Percy, for one - and I tutor Charms students on Thursdays and Fridays. I'm sure you can catch up, if you put in the effort."

"Percy?" Hermione said, tilting her head; she shifted the stack of books Calista had thrust on her to her other arm. "Percy Weasley?"

Calista nodded. "Yes, that's right. He's in in your House. I'm sure he'd be willing to help."

"Oh - that's a good idea," Hermione agreed, "He's - actually, I'm friends with his younger brother, Ronald. I had no idea that Percy was friends with - erm, with you."

Calista quirked a brow. "Friends with a Slytherin. That's what you were going to say, isn't it?"

"Erm," Hermione said, and suddenly she was very interested in the cover of the top book in the stack she held. "N-no, of course not…"

A movement to her right caught Calista's attention; she glanced over, and saw Gerald at the end of the aisle. He smiled, and lifted his hand in greeting. She saw he had a book tucked under his other arm, but she couldn't see what it was from here. She felt the corners of her own mouth turning up.

"Right," Calista said, as Gerald moved away, disappearing behind another set of shelves,"Erm. Hermione. I can guess you've had some - ah, unpleasant interactions with some members of my House, but… you know, we're all just people, too. I think this school would be much better off if more people realised that - and I'm including  _every_  House, not just yours and mine."

"Oh," Hermione said, and she nodded quickly. "Oh, I agree, but with... with everything going on, it really seems as if people - well,  _some_  people - in Slytherin really do seem to have it out for… erm, for… well, for…"

"Muggle-borns?" Calista guessed, suppressing a sigh.

Hermione nodded, and set her face. "Well, yes, as a matter of fact."

"All right," Calista said, "If you hear anything, or see anything, like that, please tell me, or tell another Prefect." She considered, and then shook her head, realising that odds were it was Draco she was talking about, and she remembered what he'd said, about his father. "Actually, perhaps it's best if you just tell me."

Hermione frowned uncertainly.

"I'll talk to them," Calista continued, "Or give them detention, or take House points. Whatever I have to do. That sort of thing… I don't tolerate it."

Hermione's frown shifted into a weak smile, but it remained uncertain.

"You know," Hermione said, "You're not at all like I expected, considering -"

She cut herself off, but Calista smiled ruefully. "Considering my father?" she guessed.

"N-no," Hermione said, for the third time "No, of course that's not what I meant..."

"He's really not that bad," Calista said, reassuringly, and then she considered further and amended: "Unless you cause an explosion in his class, of course. Then he  _is_  that bad."

Hermione dropped her gaze, and laughed nervously.

"Well," she said, "I really ought to start reading. Thank you for the suggestions."

"Of course," Calista said, mildly suspicious once more; what was this girl hiding? "Any time. And don't forget about the tutoring."

Hermione nodded, and swept out of the library. Calista tilted her head, frowning; what had the girl been in the hospital wing for, again? She knew her father had told her, and she knew that Hermione  _hadn't_  been Petrified, despite the pervading rumours around Christmastime.

She pushed her musings to the back of her mind, for the moment, and went to find Gerald.

He was at a table near the Restricted section, mostly absorbed in a book, but periodically glancing up to make sure no one was trying to sneak past him. She couldn't help but smile, glancing past him to the roped-off section; she thought, after last night, that it was most definitely her favourite part of the library, now.

"Gerald," she said, sliding into the seat across from him out of habit; as soon as she'd done so, she wished she'd thought to sit next to him instead. "Who has library patrols on Tuesdays?"

He looked up, and frowned, thoughtfully. "No one, in the evenings," he said, "Or rather, I think Filch takes care of it. In the afternoon, though… hm… I think it's Orpheus Rowle and Derek Logan."

"Oh." Calista sighed. Derek, and Hecate Rowle's twin brother. "Well - that explains  _that_ ," she said. "That second-year I was talking to - Hermione Granger - she told me a Prefect gave her detention yesterday saying she was out of bounds when she was here, before curfew. Supposedly, Professor McGonagall dismissed it."

Gerald's frown deepened. "That's not the first time someone's said that about Rowle," he said. "I'll have to talk to him - or maybe Endria will want to, she likes to handle the Slytherins, usually."

"Really?" Calista said, fighting off a smirk, "Because from what I heard - well, it sounds like she likes to handle Ravenclaws…"

Gerald blinked, and she distinctly saw him trying not to laugh.

"Not that I blame her," Calista continued, "I mean - there's one Ravenclaw I've been looking forward to seeing all day."

He grinned. "Are you...trying to flirt with me?"

"Trying?" she echoed, "I thought I was doing a pretty decent job of it…"

He considered, and nodded. "Decent," he agreed, and then: "We should clear the library soon; it's almost nine o'clock."

They did, and then they took their first pass through the corridors. Gerald reached for her hand, and she laced her fingers through his. They shared a few shy glances, a few flirtatious smiles, but for the most part, things were just the way they'd always been…

Until the end of their patrol, when Gerald walked her back to the corridor that housed the Potions classroom, and her father's quarters. When they reached the door to the narrow corridor that separated his office from the Potions classroom, Gerald reached for her hand again.

He leaned close, lifting their hands. She felt a giddy sense of anticipation; he was going to kiss her hand again, she was sure of it; and even though it  _was_  terribly corny, and it was never a thing she'd even thought about wanting a boy to do before, it seemed very  _Gerald_ and for that reason she kind of liked it, though she certainly wasn't about to admit it.

" _Bonne nuit, ma bien-aimée_ ," he murmured, and then he  _did_  kiss her hand, bringing her fingers to his lips gently.

She gasped, incredulously. "You're not... are you speaking  _French_?"

He lowered their hands, and stepped closer to her. His free hand came up, tentatively, near her shoulder. She nodded, but he didn't place it on her shoulder, like she thought he would. Instead, his fingers brushed very lightly along her cheekbone, and then he cupped her cheek, gently.

She was  _certain_  he was going to kiss her, and she felt her heart speed up in anticipation. He leaned very close -

" _Je vous souhaite de beaux rêves, des étoiles et d'autres choses, qui brillent aussi brillamment que vous."_

And then -  _finally_  - he kissed her, uncertainly and hesitantly, but still very sweetly.

"Good night, Calista," he finally said, quietly, releasing both her cheek and her hand.

"I don't -" she swallowed. Her face was on fire, she was sure of it. "I don't even know what most of that means."

Gerald smiled. "Well," he said, "I suppose that means you'll have to research it."

She felt herself smiling, probably like a fool; she couldn't help it.

"I - I still don't like that romantic stuff," she told him, stubbornly.

"Then I'll have to keep trying to convince you," he said, "Oh, and by the way. I believe  _that_  is how flirting is meant to go."

"You're - you're unbelievable," she said, feeling lit up inside like - like an  _étoile_ , she'd picked that word up from what he'd said, and knew it was close to the name of a runic symbol for 'star'.

She could see the tips of his ears reddening as he turned away; she waited until he was gone to let out an extremely embarrassing sigh, and then she let herself through the corridor behind her and into her father's office.

He was at his desk; he nearly always was when he was expecting her back, late at night, from her patrols.

"Dad," she asked, suddenly, "Do you have a French dictionary? It's - erm, for runes."

He quirked a brow. "Runes," he repeated, and she nodded.

"I believe the translation for 'owl'," he said drily, "Is  _le hibou_."

She tried very hard to look contrite, and innocent, and utterly unconcerned with that information.

He sighed. "There's one in my study," he said, grudgingly. "Second shelf, I believe."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Things between her and Gerald went almost exactly how he'd described it, that day in the library. It  _was_  like the second draft of an essay, except instead of making corrections and adding supporting evidence, they were making small, sweet advances and adding, gradually, to their knowledge of each other.

There were lighthearted things; she'd told him she hated the skin on sausages, and he'd admitted - to Calista's exaggerated horror - that he didn't much like coffee. He'd told her that part of his family, an uncle and some of his cousins, were French, and that was how he'd grown up knowing how to speak the language fairly well, but that he'd learned to read Latin and Irish Gaelic purely on his own, for fun.

She'd told him that she'd learned to read Latin as well, for essentially the same reason, and that her obsession with studying magical theory had begun when she was small, because she'd been afraid she might be a Squib. He'd found that idea absolutely preposterous.

" _You_ , a Squib?" he'd exclaimed, shaking his head, "That's absurd. Let me guess, your first spell was a Freezing Charm, wasn't it?"

"No, actually. It wasn't even a charm," she'd said, but she wouldn't tell him what it  _was_ ; after all, to do that, she'd have to admit to being an Occlumens, and she still wasn't certain what he'd think of that, or what her father would think of her telling him.

They'd talked about heavier things, too. She'd admitted, in fairly oblique terms, that her mother had forced her to come along during some of her more infamous crimes, and Gerald had told her, hesitantly, that his father had served time in Azkaban, as well - two years, a sentence that had been handed down based solely on a ten-year-old Gerald's testimony against him in the Wizengamot.

"It was quite frightening," Gerald had admitted, when she'd asked him what the Wizengamot was like. "I felt so tiny, it was like everyone around me were all giants. And they were asking me so many questions, all right in a row, from what felt like a hundred different people, all in their matching robes. And then, whatever I said - I just tried to tell the truth, but I kept getting the impression I was giving the wrong answer."

"That sounds awful," Calista had said, quietly, squeezing his hand reassuringly. "You were very brave."

"It didn't feel like it," Gerald had told her, sadly. "I was so frightened."

"Well," she'd said, hesitating; she was dancing close to some of her own demons, in her mind, but it had seemed important to connect with him in that moment; his eyes, usually warm, had been so stark, so serious. "I think sometimes the more frightened you are, the easier it gets to be brave. You feel like... "

She had remembered the way that she had fought back, against Bellatrix's invasion of her mind; the way that she'd managed to keep some part of her tethered, always, to her core, even when she'd felt Bellatrix's madness was pulling her down and away, to a place she'd known, even then, there was no returning from.

"You feel like," she'd said again, after a minute, and then she'd reached for his other hand too, lacing her fingers firmly through his; it had felt grounding, just as she'd hoped. "You have almost nothing left to lose, and… you're sure as hell not going to let  _her -_ erm, them - take what's left."

They'd been in the Potions classroom that time, cleaning up from another round of their Poisons and Antidotes preparation, and despite the fact that she'd dripped armadillo bile on the front of her robes earlier, and despite the fact that Severus could and very likely would walk in at any minute to check their potions, Gerald had withdrawn his hands from hers, and pulled her instead into a gentle, supportive embrace.

"Did you…" Gerald had asked, tentatively, after a minute had passed; he'd pulled slightly back, but both of his hands had still rested on her shoulders, "Did you… have to testify, too? At - at her trial? You would have been very young…"

Calista had shaken her head. "No," she'd said, "It was... something else, I had to do… I'm sorry, I can't -"

She couldn't possibly tell him about Bellatrix's mental attacks, not without telling him about legilimency; and it made her sad, because part of her thought that even though she wasn't quite ready to tell him  _yet_ , she might want him to know some day.

Gerald had been sweet and understanding, as always, though; he'd cupped her shoulder, and then gently touched her cheek. "You don't have to explain anything you don't want to," he'd said, "And you don't have to apologise for not wanting to."

The days crept by, with each of them applying themselves to their studies, and to their patrols, and to a hundred everyday things, but _also_  with each of them reaching out, just a little bit more, day by day, to the other. Some days they took steps backwards. The day after Calista had alluded to being made to watch her mother torture Muggles, she hadn't wanted to kiss him for two days; but if regressing back to the decidedly platonic interactions of brief shoulder touches and holding hands with an arm's length between them for those days had bothered him, he'd never let on.

When she felt ready to kiss him again, she did; and he hadn't pushed the issue before then, and even remembered to confirm that it was all right for him to initiate it, the next time.

Once, she'd accidentally pushed too far, and made  _him_  uncomfortable. They had been kissing, in the Restricted section, and she'd been tired, and stressed, and emotionally hollow from the lingering remnants of a nightmare the night before, and she'd kissed him fiercely, hoping that somehow it would make her forget; and then he'd pulled back, cheeks red and breath short.

"Wait," he'd managed, dropping his gaze from her face, and studying the floor, or the lower shelves. "That's - erm, I think... I'm not certain…"

"Oh," she'd said, taking her hands off his shoulders, and slinking back. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."

"No, it's - it's all right," Gerald had said, and he'd reached for her hands, though he hadn't stepped closer to her again, "You don't have to apologize. I just want - I just want to stop, for a moment."

They had; and when he'd slid his hands up to her shoulders, and stepped closer again, she'd leaned forward, and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

"I think," she'd said, quietly, around the hollow feeling in her gut, "I think it's probably a good idea for me to stop now, too."

And they had, without any further discussion; and it wasn't that fact that made her feel secure, in a way she hadn't before, but the fact that  _after_  they had stopped kissing, they had still been able to spend hours together, researching the Chamber, and discussing books.

It wasn't, she'd realised, that she hadn't been able to say  _No_  to Marcus, because of course she had. It was that saying no had always led to hurt feelings, and resentment, and, usually, to her running away. With Gerald, the only thing that ever happened when either of them said  _No_ , or  _Not yet_ , or  _I'm just not sure_  was that they stopped, for the moment, whatever the precise thing that had unsettled one of them was; and then they continued on with - well, with being friends, or even with a different sort of physical affection.

Although they hadn't rushed to redefine whatever it was that they had, things were undeniably moving in a direction that certainly seemed to require a new definition; and by three weeks into it, not only were their friends aware of what was happening between them, but much of the rest of the school was beginning to figure it out, too.

Calista hadn't thought much about Marcus' reaction since it had failed to manifest in the initial days after she had first kissed Gerald; maybe it was naive, but she'd hoped that since he had Hecate, and since they'd barely spoken in months, he would simply ignore it, and let them be.

A week before her seventeenth birthday, she found out precisely  _how_  naive that had been.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

"It's rather ironic, don't you think?" Penny was saying, from across the Ravenclaw table, "You're here, and Amelia's sitting at the Slytherin table."

"Yeah, well, Endria thought it would look bad if we  _both_  came over here, especially since I'm a Prefect and she's Head Girl… besides, I don't think Amelia really minds. I think she's secretly sort of hoping for an excuse to hex someone."

She glanced back over her shoulder, to reassure herself that Amelia was doing all right. She certainly looked like she was; she had Sofia and Eva and a handful of Calista's other Slytherin friends nearby, and she knew all of  _them_  would treat her friend well; on her other side, Endria looked like she might literally bite anyone that tried to give Amelia a hard time for being there.

The rules were stricter at dinnertime, but during breakfast and lunch, it wasn't unheard of for students to sit with their friends at another House's table; it had become even less unheard of since Percy, Penny, and Calista had become Prefects, and had started doing it themselves.

"She's fine," Gerald murmured, from her left side, and touched her arm, briefly. "She's with your friends, and she's with Endria."

"I know," Calista said, suppressing a yawn that threatened to split her face in two; she had been having dreams again, vague unsettling dreams that she could only half-remember once she woke, but that frightened her just enough to prevent her from going back to sleep once she'd wrenched herself out of them. She didn't  _think_  they were legilimency dreams, but she'd been checking carefully, anyway. So far, she hadn't found any anchor points, but she knew if things kept on like this much longer, she'd have to talk to her father about it, and ask him to confirm that she wasn't missing anything.

She felt eyes on her, and glanced up; Gerald was frowning with concern, eyes fixed on her face.

"I'm worried about  _you_ , though," he said, quietly. "You're hardly eating, and you look very tired."

"You're not - I'm pretty sure you're not supposed to tell your girlfriend she looks tired," Calista had snapped half-heartedly; then she'd blushed, because it was actually the first time that she'd referred to their relationship in so concrete a term.

"I am when she does, and when I'm concerned," Gerald countered, easily; he didn't seem bothered by her use of the word, at least.

"I'm fine," Calista insisted, picking up her fork and pushing her food around her plate a bit, "I'm just -"

She was interrupted by a pair of letters falling onto her plate.

"Just enjoying this plate of owl post," she muttered, snatching the letters out of her eggs. She recognised the handwriting on the top letter at once; it was from her Aunt Narcissa. She couldn't quite place the handwriting on the second one, even though it did look somehow familiar, so she opened that one first.

She felt her heart speed up, and then nearly stop, and then, as she neared the end of the brief letter, she felt it very nearly explode with anger.

_Calista,_

_I received a very troubling owls just a few days past, from Oberon Flint. It seems he is concerned that a certain young lady who is very well known to me has been making some questionable associations at school, and thought it best I be informed immediately._

_You're a bright young woman, as your father doubtless tells you; I'm certain I don't need to elaborate on what these associations might be, or why they are utterly inappropriate for a young lady of your particular standing, however, I will be happy to do so when you and your father visit our home over Easter break._

_I trust you will understand my implication, and address the situation appropriately posthaste, so that I am not placed in the uncomfortable position of receiving any more owls informing me of the rebellious and ill-advised discretions of my only niece._

_Signed,_

_Lucius Abraxas Malfoy_

Calista could feel her muscles, her bones, her nerves, every drop of blood in her veins positively quaking with rage; it was very good that she was not sitting at the same table as Marcus, because if she had been, she wasn't certain, in that moment, that she wouldn't claw her wand out of her pocket and curse him in front of the entire school.

"Calista?" she heard Gerald ask, uncertainly, but in that moment, she felt that she couldn't quite bear even to look at him. She knew that logically, nothing in Lucius' letter was her own fault; and she knew, also, that Gerald had no idea what it said, and couldn't possibly. And yet, she still felt like she ought to leave at once, as if she'd done something awful to him to hurt his feelings and now her only recourse was to hide in shame.

She leapt up, crumpling Lucius' letter in her fist as she did so; she completely forgot about Narcissa's letter, and left it unopened next to her plate, as she headed for the exit of the Great Hall as swiftly as she could. There was a flurry of motion somewhere behind her, and then suddenly, it was at her side, and it was placing a steadying hand at her shoulder.

"Calista," Severus said quietly, evenly, propelling her towards the door; she noticed dimly, that he also had a letter in his hand; she was too distraught to try and see whether she recognised the hand. "Calista, it's all right, whatever he's written," he continued, in a low, urgent voice, as soon as the heavy wooden door had closed behind them. "It doesn't matter."

"It's all right?" she snarled, "It doesn't matter? Read it, then," she said, practically thrusting it at him. "See what he's said."

Severus took the crumpled letter from her, and smoothed it out; she watched his face as he read, which transitioned quickly from mildly concerned to positively wrathful.

As he read, the door opened behind him, and Gerald came out into the corridor, holding something and looking worried and uncertain.

"I will handle this," Severus said, voice deceptively soft, "This is no longer your concern."

"Not my concern?" she echoed; she wanted to shout, but she was aware of Gerald, a few steps behind Severus, and she modulated her voice as best she could. "Of course it's my -"

"No," Severus said, smoothly. "It is not; because you don't answer to Lucius Malfoy, or his ministry contacts, or  _anyone but me_  - and I will ensure that Lucius has an understanding of that, from this point forward."

"Calista," Gerald ventured, stepping forward; he held out the object in his hand. It was a letter, the one she realised belatedly she'd left next to her plate. "You left this at the table."

"Oh." She stepped forward, and reached out for it, aware that her hands were still shaking; she moved quickly, hoping he wouldn't have time to notice that. "Thanks."

Severus frowned down at the letter suspiciously, as Calista took it and shoved it in her pocket.

"Are you all right?" Gerald asked, a concerned frown dominating his features. "Or, rather - I can see you're not, is there anything I can help with?"

Calista stifled a pre-emptive wince; she was expecting Severus to snap at him, to advise him forcefully to mind his own business, but he didn't say anything. When she looked up at him, he was watching her, frowning uncomfortably, and there was a question in his eyes. She realised, after a few seconds, that he was waiting for  _her_  to answer Gerald.

Her eyes slid back to Gerald, taking in his evident concern, his sweet, unwavering sincerity, and she knew immediately what she had to say.

"No," she said, "I mean, I'm fine. Thanks for bringing me the letter, but I - I have to go, now. Extra lessons."

"Well," he said, "If you're certain..."

She nodded quickly, before she could lose her composure, again; it wasn't him at all that she was angry with, but she knew too well her habit of transferring her anger when it was this consuming, and she didn't want that to happen; not with him.

"I'll see you tonight," she told him, "For our patrol."

Severus did take over then, guiding her along the corridors towards the dungeons.

"You could have taken a few moments to speak with Mr. Boot, if you'd wanted to," Severus said, as they descended the stone staircase, the relative darkness of the dungeons looming ahead of them, and swallowing up the bottom few steps. "We're a few minutes early for your dueling lessons."

"Right," Calista snarled, clenching her fingers. "How would that have gone?  _Oh, Gerald, the reason I'm upset is that my family are a bunch of hateful bigots, and they're trying to tell me I can't be with you?_ I'm sure that would make him feel just wonderful. Especially once I told him it was  _Marcus_  who wrote to tell them about it."

"I will deal with Lucius," Severus reiterated, "But I will give you a choice - would you like me to deal with Flint as well, or would you prefer to do that yourself?"

"That depends," she said, darkly, "Am I allowed to curse him?"

"You are allowed," Severus said, in admirably measured tones, "To deal with the situation appropriately, within the confines of your best judgment."

She frowned, and exhaled forcefully. "So no, then."

He glanced at her, as he tapped his wand to his office door, unlocking it. "I find myself not quite able to forbid you from cursing  _that boy_ ," he admitted, with a soft snarl, "So I suppose it's just as well that I trust your judgment."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Perhaps he was partially influenced by her evident anger, or perhaps it was his plan all along, but Severus told her, once they'd entered his quarters and he'd firmly shut the doors at either end of the narrow corridor that bisected them, that they would not be dueling that day; instead, he was going to teach her a new spell.

He conjured a familiar, tatty training dummy - the one he typically used to demonstrate a new spell to her, since he still never cast on her when she wasn't defending herself, and even then never used a spell that would cause her any sort of physical pain.

" _Ignitelum_ ," he intoned, flicking his wand at the target; a bright magenta flame mushroomed against the target, and then quickly disappeared. She felt a flash of heat overtake the corridor, briefly. She thought it was fitting; on a day when anger was burning a hole through her stomach, she would learn a combative flame spell.

"This is  _not_  a utilitarian spell, by any stretch of the imagination," he told her, grimly. "It is purely combative. The flame is not long-burning, and it typically won't leave marks on skin or clothing; but the heat penetrates the skin easily. It is quite painful to be hit with, and is a lesser version of an incantation that is frequently deadly. What's more, it can't be fully blocked with a Shield Charm; some of the energy will still pass through."

"You don't expect me to cast that on you?" she asked, mouth going wide with horror, "I can't do that."

"Ah, for once, I agree," Severus said, slipping past her. He placed his hands at her shoulders, turned her towards the training dummy. "You will cast at the target, today. Keep your elbow straight, or you may lose control of the flame's direction - and remember, this is Dark magic; you need to mean it."

She nodded, reaching into her mind for a thread of anger; she had so many of them, it would not be hard to find one.

In her mind, she revisited the words of her uncle's letter; she'd read it only once, so she didn't remember it exactly, but she knew the gist of it, felt it in the core of the star of anger that was still burning away, inside of her.

 _Questionable associations_ , he'd accused her of making,  _Inappropriate for a young lady of your standing -_

Yes, inappropriate, because one of the most positive relationships she'd ever formed with another person happened to be with someone who had ancestry that Lucius deemed unworthy - but her uncle never seemed to find his own frequent adulation of Bellatrix inappropriate, even though Narcissa  _must_  have told him...

" _Ignitelum!"_  she said, and it was absurdly easy to release the hold she had on the inferno of her anger, to let its heat flood her veins; there was an equally intense flash of heat that engulfed the small corridor, a searing bolt of magenta that shot all the way down it. The training dummy rocked back and hit the door behind it.

Behind her, Severus sucked in a breath; he touched her shoulder, and it was steadying, in a way that she hadn't realised she needed.

"That was a very powerful cast," he murmured. "How do you feel?"

She swallowed, and forced herself to take a long, deep breath; the anger still hummed and vibrated, through her blood and along her nerves, but she was able, with the reassuring pressure of his grip on her shoulder, and with her deliberate indrawn breath, to feel and act clearly despite it.

"Actually, I… don't really feel all that terrible…"

Usually, after casting Dark spells - and the effect was typically more pronounced the Darker the spell was - she felt hollow and weary, as if she'd somehow diminished herself by casting. But this time…

"I feel just the same now as I did when I was casting," she said, "I still feel... powerful."

"And are you frightened by that feeling?"

"I feel like I'm supposed to say I am," she said, very quietly, "But the truth is that, no, I'm not."

Severus let go of her shoulder, and slipped past her, gliding to the end of the corridor. He righted the dummy; he must have been right about the spell not leaving marks - despite the force with which she'd knocked it back, and the residual heat that even  _still_  lingered in the air around them, it was completely unmarked.

He turned towards her again, and she looked at him questioningly, but his face was impassive. He returned to his position behind her, but this time he didn't touch her.

"Cast it again," he instructed.

She lifted her wand again. It was easy, still, to reach for the anger; it felt like it was living directly beneath her skin.

" _Ignitelum!_ "

Another massive burst of magenta, another rush of heat along the corridor; this time, when the cast was complete and the target went clattering against the door, she noticed that something inside her felt different; lighter, somehow.

"Again," he said; this time the target was still upright, as he'd set it closer to the door the second time.

This time, the anger wasn't so close to the surface; she could no longer feel the hum of it, no longer felt that it was pulsing through her, from her core to her fingertips.

She reached for it, forced herself to think of Lucius' letter again - but really, hadn't it been precisely what she'd  _expected_? She'd known, before she'd realised she even  _wanted_ to be with Gerald, that her aunt and uncle would not approve of it. It was the reason she never mentioned Amelia to her family, or the fact that she was still friendly with her cousin Tonks, still wrote letters to her sometimes…

 _My only niece_ , Lucius' letter had said, but that wasn't true. Was that what she was afraid of? That she would be - what had Tonks said, before? Burned out of the Black family tree?

Whatever she was feeling, it wasn't precisely anger, anymore. But her father had asked her to cast again, and it wasn't as though she didn't have other sources to draw anger from.

She delved deeper into her mind, searching for a thread of emotion that felt like it would fit the bill. She landed on a snippet of the dream she'd had, this past night and the one before.

_A cloaked figure, in a forest clearing; tall, skeletal trees rising up around her - or him - sometimes it's her mother's mass of curls that emerges from the hood, and sometimes it's Quirrell's purple turban._

' _The thing of it is, my child,' came a voice that sent shivers down her spine; it was her, after all, this time. Still, the voice was distorted, watery, as if from a long way off, or as if Calista couldn't quite reliably remember exactly what it sounded like anymore. 'This is the end, I fear, for now. We're running out of time.'_

It made no sense; none of her dreams lately did. They only unnerved her, and confused her, and kept her from getting the sleep she so desperately needed. It didn't matter, though; recalling that vision from her dream had done one thing, the thing that thinking about her mother  _always_  did.

It had made her angry.

" _Ignitelum!_ " she yelled, and the flame that burst forth was so dark it was nearly purple; the heat that seared across the corridor sent both her and Severus stumbling back, squinting their eyes against it.

And then something else flashed through her mind, another scene -

_\- a flash of silver; sharp pain, small, heavy drops of blood on a shiny wooden floor -_

Something shot through her - a bolt of dread, a sadness so deep that it caused her a brief, physical pain.

She gasped; it wasn't going away, the pain - and it was shifting, from her gut to her back. She found herself reaching back, to see if there was anything there, if she'd somehow bumped into something behind her -

_\- hands clawing, find it, pull it out; dark eyes swimming somewhere above her, warm arms coming around her, hands reaching for hers -_

"Dad!" Calista choked out, and she wasn't even sure if she'd really called out, or if this, too, was part of the image that had flashed, suddenly and inexplicably, through her mind.

"It's all right, Calista," he said, and his voice, his hands as they gripped her shoulders - she was positive they were here, they were real. The image started to fade, and so did the pain.

"That was an incredibly powerful cast," he said, quietly, "It's all right if you feel strange; in fact, it's expected -"

"It's not that," she managed, and she could feel her entire body start to shake, violently; Severus must have felt it almost instantly, through her shoulders, because his grip tightened. "I think I - I think I just… remembered - something."

He turned her towards him, searching her face intently; whatever he saw there caused his skin to go pale, his mouth to grow taut. "What, Calista?" he barked, urgently. "What did you remember?"

"I don't - I don't know, exactly," she said, and she could hear her voice tremble just as fiercely as her limbs still were. "Something - something shiny, and - pain, and - there was blood. I think - I think it was  _mine_."

Severus hissed, and swore.

"And then - and then  _you_. I think you were... I think you were trying to help me. You were reaching for my hands, and I was - I was…"

She shook her head; it was fading, and she couldn't remember anymore why she'd been trying to claw, desperately, at her own back -

 _Oh, yes, you can_. The thought slithered through her like a tiny, dark snake.

"My - my scars," she whispered, "I was trying to see - they were hurting - I thought there might be… might be…"

He swore again; his eyes were bleak. He guided her into the kitchen, and sat her down in her usual chair; she barely noticed. Inside her mind, a horrible, unbearable truth was opening up, like a poisonous bloom.

"A knife," she said quietly, feeling suddenly as if a horrible, violent storm was ripping through her insides. "The silver, the pain. Blood. My scars… the scars on my back. That's - where they came from, isn't it? She - she  _cut_  me…didn't she?"

"I won't lie to you," Severus said, and his voice was as heavy as she had ever heard it. "Do you still want me to answer that question?"

She nodded; she didn't trust herself to open her mouth without being sick.

"Yes," Severus said, quietly. "She did."

"All this time -" she croaked out; her throat was aching, suddenly, and she didn't know why. "I thought it was a curse…"

"Not - no, not a curse, exactly," Severus managed, wrenching the words out. "But there was magic in it -"

"Dark magic," she said; it wasn't a question, because she already knew the answer.

"One more week," he said, in a soft, abysmal tone. "Just  _one_  more week, and there would have been nothing left to remember."

Her eyes widened; if she was understanding the implication of what he'd just said correctly -

"That's - that's the memory you took from me, isn't it?" she asked, "The one - the one that you had to fix."

"Yes," he said, in the same heavy, wretched tone. "Only I couldn't take it  _all_ , because of the way she'd done it - that's why you had to learn to keep her out, to keep her from forcing you to remember… and still, even  _still_ , without her influence…"

"In a week, I'm seventeen," Calista said, slowly. "Why does that make a difference?"

His eyes searched her face; she didn't know what he was looking for, but whatever it was, he seemed to have found it, because he nodded.

"Think," he said, and his hands came off her shoulders; she'd almost forgotten they were there, but she realised that as soon as they were gone, she felt smaller, and somehow more afraid, though of precisely what, she couldn't say. "What will change, when you turn seventeen? What will go away?"

Her eyes widened again, as Severus began to pace. The kitchen was tiny, so his route was short.

"The - the Trace," she said, "But you can't mean - that she… altered  _that_  somehow?"

"Not altered, exactly," Severus said; he was reaching the end of his path to the counter, and turned towards her again. "She connected  _her_  spell to it, somehow. To ensure… to ensure that  _no one_  could break it…"

Something was teasing at the back of her mind; something that caused her blood to chill, and a violent shiver to grip her body.

"Well, " Severus was saying, "No one except you, of course, by turning seventeen."

"That's what she meant." Calista said, hollowly; she felt a hundred times more drained, suddenly, than if she'd been casting Dark spells for hours on end. "I've been having dreams. I don't see her face, but I can hear her voice. She keeps saying, 'We're running out of time'."

Severus stopped in his tracks, and looked at her directly; she looked up, expecting to see anger in his eyes, or reproach, but instead there was only a deep, hollow resignation.

" _Why_ ," he asked, raggedly, "Didn't you  _tell_  me?"

"Well, I was going to," she said, in a small voice,"If it happened one more time. But I  _swear_  it wasn't - it never felt like... I thought it was just a nightmare. Like the others."

"Oh,  _Calista_. How many times have I  _told_  you…?"

"I checked," she said, a note of firmness creeping into her voice, "I checked for anchor points _obsessively_. There's  _nothing_."

"I think you understand by now that I'm going to have to confirm that for myself," he said, wearily. "But even if you're correct - and honestly, I don't doubt that you are - I've  _told you_ , time and time again, to tell me  _every time_  you have a dream about her. "

"But it happens all the time," she said, "And most of the time, it  _is_  nothing. Even this, I - I'm still not convinced… Dad, I always tell you when anything doesn't feel right, but I've been able to... I can keep her out, now; you even  _said_ , this… this thing I remembered, it was already there, buried…"

"Yes," he said, "A very  _small_  piece of it has always been there, and yet, it's never come out  _before_  - and now, a week before the spell expires…"

She swallowed. "Actually, I - I think it has started to come out, before," she said, very softly. "Only I didn't - I didn't know enough to tell you about it. I've had -  _things_ … where someone says something, and -"

She shook her head. "Once - a few years ago - I was trying to teach Daisy defensive spells, and someone - Eva, I think - said something about, just give her a knife, and I -"

Severus was watching her intently; she clenched her hands together in her lap to suppress a shiver at the memory.

"It was like I - blacked out for a second. I felt awful, and I didn't know why. And there have been… other things, similar things. I just - didn't know that's what I was missing. I didn't know it was anything."

Severus frowned. "I wish you had told me," he said quietly.

"Well, what could you have done? You wouldn't tell me before, what I was missing…"

"At the very least," he said, softly, "I would have liked to be there for you, if you were... afraid."

She was quiet for a minute. Then: "Well, you're - you're here for me, now. And… and I'm mostly okay, even though I… even though I know, now."

He made a small sound in his throat; a terrible sadness pulled at his face, and it reminded her, suddenly, of the way he'd reacted in the aftermath of the revelation that Quirrell had been harbouring the Dark Lord under his turban.

"I mean," she continued, bravely, even though something in his face was making her feel less and less that way, "Curse, or - or knife - what's the difference? I still have - the scars are still the same. And I suppose… I suppose you  _had_  to remove the memory, as best you could, to keep her from using it to get to me before the... the spell, the whatever... before it broke. But like you said, if it's going to be gone in a week… I only have to keep her out that long, right? And now I _have_ the memory and you don't need to worry about it anymore."

Severus's eyes glittered, and he put a hand on her shoulder, again.

"I don't know if I ever wished more," he said, "That I could lie to you."

"What - what do you mean? You  _said_  the spell would break…"

"Yes," he said, "It will. But, Calista…"

"Tell me," she whispered "Tell me what's making you look like that."

"You don't have the memory," he said, voice thick and low. "You have - the outline, the shape of the place where it's meant to fit."

"So?" she asked, voice wavering. "That's enough, isn't it?"

He swallowed, and then he guided her to a standing position. Wordlessly, he pulled her into a hug; then he looked at her again, and his face was blank once more, jaw set in resolve.

"For now," he said, and there was an edge to his voice that was hard and soft at once. "For now, it's enough."

She opened her mouth, to ask - she didn't know what, exactly, but to make him elaborate - but his mouth opened first.

"What do you want for your birthday?" he asked, in an entirely different tone, and she knew she wasn't getting any more answers out of him, that day.


	15. Chapter 15

Severus was carefully, uncharacteristically pleasant to Calista in the days following the letter from Lucius and her partially recovered memory; he supplied her with all of her favourite foods at mealtimes, and yet didn't nag her to eat any of them. He assigned her class a potion that she had made so many times she could almost literally do it in her sleep, and for the first time she could remember, neglected to assign them an essay, and though she'd deliberately provoked him to irritation twice, he'd steadfastly avoided snapping at her.

She was having dreams still - vague, lucid dreams that kept her from sleeping properly, but that also didn't seem to be reflective of a direct attack, though she searched her mind carefully after each one just the same. Twice, though she was nearly certain it was caused by her own obsessive thoughts, she felt a twinge of pain in the scars on her back, and once more, a random overheard snippet of conversation caused her to see, in a dim flash in her mind's eye, the shape of a blade.

Still, given all of this, it was her father's unwavering, unrelenting patience that gave her the most dread; she hadn't known him to tread so carefully around her since she'd been very small, and had still been legitimately afraid that he had taken her from the orphanage only to poison her and bring her back to Bellatrix. His kindness had struck her as suspicious then, and it did so now.

She tried to focus on her responsibilities; on schoolwork and patrolling and walking Daisy to her classes, but fear and dread pricked at her consciousness like sharp little pins, in moments both expected and unexpected; of course, she'd feel a sharp fear when the lights went out at night - that was to be expected. But other things, things that had never given her cause for worry before, all suddenly seemed very sinister: the butter knife by her plate at breakfast, for instance; the decorative skulls that lined the Slytherin common room.

Gerald, true to his nature, tried very hard to be there for her; she could tell that he was trying, and yet she couldn't _quite_  bring herself to let him. She knew she was uncharacteristically quiet during their patrol, that night, and she could see the concern creasing his brow, but whenever he asked she insisted she was fine. She snapped at him once, but he still kept asking. She couldn't quite decide if she was touched or irritated; perhaps a little of both.

By Wednesday's patrol, he was quiet and withdrawn as well; in fact, aside from the rounds they made in the corridors after curfew, they spent most of the patrol apart, in separate areas of the library. Twice, when they drew close, he'd opened his mouth as if to say something to her, but then, both times, he'd looked at her and changed his mind, shaking his head and closing his mouth again; she felt a twinge of guilt both times, but it wasn't enough to push her towards confiding in him. She didn't think she  _could,_ no matter that part of her wanted to. One of the things that worried her was sure to hurt his feelings, and the other was... well, it was  _the one thing_  she wouldn't - couldn't - share with anyone.

Close to nine o'clock, she passed a table of second-year Gryffindors for the second time; she was so wrapped up in her own thoughts that it took her several seconds to realise they were Harry Potter and his friends, Percy's younger brother and Hermione, the girl she'd met in the library. She blinked, realising that had been less than a month ago; it felt like a lifetime. Then again, since the past four days had felt like four years, she supposed that wasn't so surprising.

"...no, it was the strangest thing," Hermione was saying; Calista could hear whispering from the other side of a bookcase, "I'm telling you, she was actually  _nice_ …"

"Yeah right," one of the boys - she thought it sounded like Percy's brother - muttered, darkly. "Probably just wants you to tell her who all the Muggle-borns are - round them up for her friend, the heir -"

"It's curfew," Calista said sharply, coming around the other side of the bookcase; the red-haired boy immediately looked guilty, so she knew she had been right about who was talking. She didn't care as much as she thought she ought to have. "You need to go back to your common room. And stay together."

The three of them hurriedly stood, Hermione gathering several books; both of the boys looked empty-handed, and both of them cast her surreptitious, dark looks. She supposed she wasn't meant to see them; she felt an involuntary sneer coming to her mouth - they really weren't particularly adept at hiding their expressions, either one of them. Hermione smiled weakly, uncertainly, as the three of them headed for the door.

"I say Ron's right," Potter said quietly; Calista wondered if he thought she couldn't hear him. "Did you see that look she gave us? And what was that about ' _stay together_ '? D'you think that was some kind of threat -?"

"Honestly, Harry," Hermione whispered, casting a nervous glance back where Calista stood, pretending not to have heard them; she was too tired to argue with the boys' obvious Slytherin prejudice. "It's exactly the sort of thing Percy would say, and you know it - she's just doing her job as a Prefect -"

Percy's brother cut in with something else; Calista turned away, determined not to hear whatever it was. How could she even justify being angry over it, really? Wasn't the letter from her uncle proof that it  _was_  all true? Her actions - well, evidently they were  _not at all appropriate_ , so perhaps she wasn't a very good example of a Slytherin.

Perhaps she shouldn't even  _be_  a Slytherin after all… not for the first time, she found herself wishing suddenly that she weren't. Without meaning to, her eyes sought out Gerald; he was directing a group of fifth-year Ravenclaws to return to their common room. She recalled the large, airy room, the streams of sunlight during the day and the books that lined the walls; she wished she could go with them.

She was suddenly anxious again; she shoved her hands into her pockets, because she didn't know what  _else_  to do with them. She felt her wand in the right-hand pocket, and her fingers crumpled around paper in her left; she wrinkled her nose, and pulled it out.

It was a letter, addressed in the familiar cursive writing of her Aunt Narcissa; the one she'd sent on Sunday. She had forgotten about it, which was probably for the best, if it were anything like Lucius'.

She glanced towards Gerald again; he was watching her uncertainly. He looked like he might approach her again. She decided she didn't want him to, mostly because an increasingly vocal part of her  _did_  want him to, and she knew that anything she said would be inadvisable at best. She made a show of opening the letter and staring down at it, so he would take the hint and move on; he did. She heard him sigh, and when she glanced up again, she saw his back, as he began another perimeter check, even though they both knew they were the only students left in the library at that point.

The letter was quite short, especially from her aunt, who often liked to tell Calista about things she'd seen in stores that she thought Calista might like. There was none of that in this letter; it was as direct and to the point as anything Calista had ever received.

_Dear Calista,_

_Please call me on the fire when you can. I'm very concerned for you, darling. Your uncle is too, though he doesn't always show it the way he should._

_Your Loving Aunt,_

_Narcissa_

Calista scowled; it was all too easy to imagine the  _sort_  of concern Narcissa must be feeling for her. She knew her aunt would not express it quite so harshly as Lucius had done, but still… it amounted to the same thing, really.

 _Oh, darling_ , she could imagine her aunt saying, in the voice she'd perfected, that managed to convey disappointment and affection at once,  _I just worry that perhaps this young man isn't quite_ appropriate _for you…_

She crammed the letter back in her pocket, and pretended to check behind shelves, the same way Gerald was checking the perimeter.

She felt positively wretched, by the time Gerald walked her back to her father's quarters, at the end of their patrol; she'd barely spoken to him, and even then, it had been stilted, meaningless speculation on the Arithmancy homework.

He looked like he might reach for her hand, just as they reached the corridor that led to her father's office; she thought recklessly that if he  _did_ , she might tell him - something, at least. Something that - even if she regretted it instantly, might make her feel slightly less alone in that moment, cloaked by the darkness and relative silence of the dungeon corridor.

He reached out, uncertainly, but then his eyes searched her face, and he stopped. She looked ahead at his eyes, worried and sad, and then down at his hand between them, and  _she_  reached out, suddenly. She squeezed his hand, and met his eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said, quickly, not quite realising what she was going to say until it had already come out, "You're not - I hope you know, you haven't done anything wrong. I just - this is me. This is what I do, when something bad happens. I'm not nice, and I know it, but I can't help it."

Gerald reached for her other hand, holding them both securely. "You don't have to be nice. You just... you know, you  _also_ don't have to be alone."

"Oh, but I'm so good at it," she snarked back darkly, before she could help it.

Gerald frowned. "I'm not," he said, quietly. "I always think it's worse, just living inside my own head. I'd rather… I think it helps, to have someone to share with…"

"I've never been very good at that," she admitted, tearing her eyes away to look, resolutely at the stone floor of the dungeon; she wished she could, but - no. It wasn't possible, not with this.

"Well, one way to get better at it," Gerald said, taking a half-step forward; he still held onto both of her hands, but it didn't feel like a romantic gesture, exactly. "Is to practise…"

"It's not as easy as you're making it sound."

"Maybe it is and maybe it isn't," he insisted, "But I know  _I'd_  like to. Calista, I also... and I want..."

She looked at him again; he was flustered, suddenly, and it was unusual for him.

"Gerald, I know you want to help…"

"Yes," he said, "I do, and I also - I also have  _things_  -"

There was something in his eyes, something so sincere and appealing and vulnerable, which didn't make sense to her; and suddenly, it was overwhelming, and she was afraid words might just start tumbling out of her mouth, words that she could never take back; things he could never un-know.

"I'm sorry," she said again quickly, wrenching her hands away, "It's - I have to go."

She fumbled with the knob, letting herself through the door. She heard Gerald sigh behind her, and she tried unsuccessfully to ignore yet another little pinprick of guilt.

"Good night, Calista," she faintly heard, behind her, as she let the door close between them.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

On Thursday afternoon, Severus wanted her to accompany him to the Headmaster's office; it was a strange thing, a strange feeling, to be going there. She couldn't help but feel like she was in trouble for something; but maybe she was. Maybe she was going to be admonished for being a conduit into the castle, for Bellatrix - but then, she wasn't certain if the Headmaster even  _knew_  about that, though Severus had told her that the memories Bellatrix had exploited, years ago, were stored there.

There was a small rack of them, on his desk; a row of delicate-looking silvery-blue vials. They almost looked like they could have contained miniature Patronuses. She wondered if  _her_  memories were in one of the vials she could see - she didn't think they could be; hers would surely not look like  _that_. They'd be dark, black clouds, she was certain. It didn't even seem that the implied enormity of them could even  _fit_  in such a small, innocuous container.

Her father and the Headmaster were talking; she was trying very hard not to hear them, because doing so would mean that this was all real - that one of those little vials really did belong to her, that there was something within one of them that she did not remember about Bellatrix, something that was  _even worse_  than all of the things she did recall.

She wondered who the rest of the vials belonged to; she assumed the Headmaster himself, but what if she were wrong? What if there were other students who were temporarily storing their nightmares here, in a jaunty little rack full of tiny, swirling silver clouds? The whole idea was absurd; she bit the insides of her cheeks, holding back a bitter, mirthless laugh that she was certain would come out all wrong.

"I think the summer is best," Severus was saying, grimly; Calista only noticed because he'd glanced back at her, where she'd been hovering and imagining - wishing - she might be invisible, and that caught her attention. "If - if such a thing can really be called that. I've had another thought… perhaps there's an alternative to simply - putting them back the way they came out…"

The Headmaster was looking past Severus now, and Calista could feel his eyes on her, piercingly intense. She remembered, suddenly, a conversation she'd had with him - as far as she could recall, the first and  _last_  conversation she'd had with him - about the enchanted ceiling, and whether they'd be able to see dragons in it. She felt rather as though he was searching for dragons now, in her face. She recalled how hesitant she'd been to speak to him, that evening; she felt exactly the same way, now.

"My concern on behalf of the school is always, of course, to prevent danger from entering the castle," he said, and Calista thought he ought to look at Severus, since it was Severus that he was conversing with, but his brilliant blue eyes were still unmistakably on her. "And I understand the period of concern for that is drawing to a close?"

"That concern has been closed for quite some time," Severus snapped; still, the Headmaster's eyes did not shift. "As an Occlumens, Calista has developed to be - nearly unrivaled by anyone who's not currently in this room."

"Nearly," the Headmaster repeated, in a deceptively light tone.

"Yes," Severus said, approaching a hiss, " _Nearly_. There is one… who  _has_  managed to infiltrate the castle, but as you  _may_  recall - not by my daughter's shortcomings, but by your own…I suppose he must be considered a rival."

The Headmaster's eyes finally did flicker back up to Severus; still, his expression remained remarkably mild.

"Severus."

Something passed between the two men; something palpable and yet, to Calista, utterly unintelligible. She saw her father's face twist, from the bit of his profile she could see; his fingers twitched, like they might clench around his wand - and then, he nodded, once.

"The only person who stands to suffer from returning the memories," he said, flatly, "Is Calista herself."

"I can think of one other who will suffer," the Headmaster said, and Calista thought the look he gave Severus know was pitying; she wondered if her father was scowling. She would, if the look had been directed at her. "You know, Severus, it strikes me that you needn't have brought Calista here, for this conversation, if its outcome is already decided."

Both men were silent for several seconds. Then the Headmaster's eyes were on her again, though he still appeared to be speaking to Severus.

"If, however, your intention is to offer her a choice, then perhaps, I can see the benefit to having her listen… to having her understand."

Severus nodded briefly, curtly; Calista would have missed it if she hadn't abandoned her previous idea of pretending not to listen.

The Headmaster nodded, and then he did something Calista wasn't expecting; he smiled to her, warmly and quite kindly.

"Come closer, Calista," he invited her; she stepped forward uncertainly, stopping when she drew level with her father. She felt his hand at her back, supportive; even though it was quite close to where her scars were, it didn't make her flinch away. Her father never made her flinch away, not for many years.

"You know," the Headmaster said, conversationally, "I feel that it is only right to congratulate you, despite these strangest of circumstances we meet in - but that has always been the case for you and I, hasn't it, Calista?"

"I've only really met you properly once before," she said, finding her voice for the first time since Severus had brought her up here, "That time that I asked you about the dragons."

"Ah, that's not quite true," he replied, with a twinkling clarity in his gaze that made her feel both secure and disarmed at once. She realised, belatedly, that he was trying to  _read_  her; that he was using legilimency. It was so nuanced she hardly felt it, and yet, it was something even more instinctive than second nature at this point for her to guard herself. Her layers were in place; she knew her secrets were as guarded as they ever would be. At any rate, this didn't feel invasive, precisely, though perhaps it should have; it felt more like a test.

"We did meet before that," she said, quietly; she had been prodded to memory by that piercing gaze; she wondered how she hadn't known, at the time, that he was reading her then, across that tiny, well-scrubbed little table; but then, she hadn't  _really_  remembered; hadn't really ever thought of that table, or any of the faces that had stared at her around it, not in a very long time. "Or, I suppose I met you. I didn't say anything to you, so it was rather one-sided."

"Oh, I met you," the Headmaster said, and for some reason his tone was pleased; she would call it just shy of  _delighted_ , which seemed utterly absurd. "The eyes, I think you know by now, can say quite a lot in the absence of words, it turns out."

"I suppose that's true," she said, cautiously; she wondered what he was playing at.

"It's very fortunate indeed that you've found your voice," the Headmaster continued, "Since it appears that your father was not exaggerating your skills in the slightest. Congratulations, indeed; I doubt that I need to tell you that such high-level Occlumency is a very uncommon skill. And a very  _valuable_  one."

Calista felt Severus' fingertips digging, suddenly, into her shoulder.

"Albus," he growled, warningly.

"Ah, but of course, your father is right," the older man continued, smoothly. "It's growing late, and we do have another matter to discuss. I would hate for either of us to miss dinner, as I've heard a very reliable rumour that there's to be a lemon meringue tonight."

He winked, which slightly unnerved Calista; she felt it doubly so when his very next action was to gesture grandly to the row of little silvery vials on his desk.

"Deceptively lovely, aren't they?" he asked, conversationally; she didn't know if she was meant to respond or not, so she didn't. "And yet, like so many beautiful things, they are capable of causing indescribable pain."

She knew that Bellatrix was widely regarded as being beautiful; she wondered if that was what he meant to imply, or if it was only her stressed, paranoid mind that instantly circled around to that.

He reached a knotted, wrinkled hand out, and tapped, very delicately at the side of one of the vials, and then at the one next to it.

"These are yours," he said, and then he gestured to the rest; there were four more that she could see. "And  _these_  are mine. Normally all kept, of course, under lock and key - but I did have forewarning that you were coming."

"This one," Dumbledore said, brushing his index finger along one of the vials he'd indicated as his own, "Is something I might have changed, if I'd been wise enough to see it at the time. A man doesn't get to my age without regrets; but this one weighs heavier than most. Heavy enough that I need to be relieved of it, every now and again, when it begins to cloud my judgment on other matters…"

He moved along to the next vial. "This one I removed just this evening; a rather disconcerting dream that I'll revisit in the Pensieve and puzzle over later. I do find, sometimes, that viewing things from a perspective that occurs  _outside_  my own mind helps me to see things clearly."

"This one," he said, tapping the third vial in line, "Might once have done someone great harm, had it been stolen from me at a crucial moment; but the danger has gone…for now."

Calista suppressed a shiver, though she didn't quite know where it had come from.

"And  _this_  one," he said, touching upon the final vial at last, "Is only mine because someone shared it with me. It concerns… a third party. One whom I don't think trusts me enough to have it, though I do hope that will one day change."

The Headmaster's gaze on her was intense once more; she looked steadily back, though she felt a coil of nerves wrapping itself around her stomach.

"You'll notice that I was able to describe all of these memories to you in broad terms, even though none of them are actually part of my mind, at the moment. Soon - perhaps tonight, perhaps tomorrow - I will return them all, but one, to where they belong. I don't make this choice because I want to; indeed, in at least once case, the returning will be painful, both due to the content and because I have kept it separate from the rest of my thoughts for too long."

"How long is too long?" Calista asked quietly.

"Ah, an excellent question," the Headmaster said, "And, like most excellent questions, I'm afraid the answer is rather murky; it depends on the memory, and it depends on the person recovering it."

"Six years," she said, quickly and solemnly; she felt Severus' hand on her shoulder again, though this time the pressure was quite light. "That's very long, isn't it?"

"In the context that we are speaking of - yes, Calista, I must be very level with you that it is. Your mind will likely protest it, before it can reabsorb it."

"But you said I have a choice," she said, "You both said that's why I'm here."

"I have found that there is very nearly always a choice," the Headmaster said, and his voice was quite heavy all of a sudden; Calista wasn't certain if she found it more or less disconcerting than his earlier inexplicable lightness.

"So then, what am I choosing?" she asked, shrewdly; she felt her eyes narrow. "It's not just as simple as remember or don't remember, is it? If it were, there would be no question."

It was Severus that answered her this time; she heard his voice, harsh near her ears. She knew him well enough by now to recognise that it was an emotional hoarseness, not an angry one precisely; still, that didn't make it any less frightening, given the situation they were discussing.

"If you don't remember," he said, "Everything will stay almost precisely the way it is now. You won't know all of the details of what happened, but you will still experience the - the flashbacks, the moments of… unexplained fear. The dreams; not the ones borne of an attempted connection but the ones that originate inside your own mind, from the remnants."

"But you  _said_ ," Calista glanced at him, "You  _said_  that was part of - you said the piece of memory I had would be gone, when I turn seventeen."

"Had it remained isolated to that particular spot - to the Trace - I suspect it would have. But you have recalled it, at least partly, and it has already been - assimilated - among your other memories; On reflection, I suppose it has been happening slowly for quite some time. I might have known, if you'd come to me with -"

Severus stopped himself; Calista saw his mouth press into a grim line, and then he shook his head. "It hardly matters now," he said, finally. "As I said, things can remain much the same. Or... "

He reached his free hand over, and touched her chin, turning her face gently towards his; it was a gesture that he had made a few times when she was small, but that he hadn't done for some time now. His eyes looked into her hers, familiar and somehow steadying. She wondered how she had ever found them frightening, when she was younger.

"The memories can be returned; the details can be recalled. It will not be an easy thing to bear, for… for either of us. And yet, I have no doubts whatsoever that you  _can_  bear it. The benefits…"

The word fell awkwardly out of his mouth, as if it tasted bitter; she saw his expression flash, briefly, into something of a grimace.

"You will have some answers; you may experience a temporary uptick in nightmares, or you may not. The flashes of remembering, the vague dreams… I believe those would stop. You may very well find it easier to learn Transfiguration, though I cannot be certain. Moreover… there will be nothing she has over you that you do not know about."

Calista shivered; Severus released her chin, and put one hand at either shoulder instead; she almost forgot that the Headmaster was there too, until he rose from his desk, and quietly stepped away, giving them a moment of privacy.

"The risks," Severus said heavily; Calista heard the Headmaster's office door close. She was surprised he would leave them here alone, but she was grateful for it as well. "I said you would be able to bear it, and you will; but I do not know how long that process of acceptance will take. It might be a day; it might be months. Eventually, I think it will become like any dark memory you have, which is to say that it may still haunt you, from time to time, but it should not overpower you."

"How long… how long do I have to decide?"

"I think it would be best to do this over the summer, if we do it at all," he said; she had the impression that he had given this a lot of thought, despite the fact that it had only come up, for her at least, a few days ago. "That way, we don't interfere with your exams, and I have time to… help you."

"So, then," she said, "I don't have to decide until then?"

He nodded. "That's correct. Calista…"

She saw something else in his gaze; something that flashed, briefly, and then was gone. He shook his head.

"It is my wish that, after today, you can forget about this until then, though I doubt that will be possible, for either of us. I won't advise you which way to choose, but I  _will_  say that - come Sunday, the spell that was woven into your scars -"

She shivered at the mention of them; Severus' hands on her shoulders tightened, and she thought she saw a flicker in his eyes again.

" - will break. I very much doubt that she will ever be able to reach you through long-distance legilimency ever again; even if you were not strong enough to block her, I suspect this would be true. This will happen regardless of whether you choose to remember, which means that -"

"It means that either way, I'll be safe," she breathed, her voice shivering with the implication; the relief vibrated against her ribcage so hard it was painful. "Safe from  _her_  trying to reach me…"

Severus nodded, and there was something very like relief in his own eyes, too. "I do believe that will be the case," he acknowledged, "Though of course, we will need to monitor the situation - to be certain…"

"Of course. I'll check every day…"

"It also means," he continued, "That it will be - ah, acceptable - for you to… to discuss what happened, if you wish to. You will no longer need to keep the spell, or the scars, a secret, if you do not wish to…"

She blinked, rapidly. "Are you  _mental_? Why would I tell anyone?"

Severus exhaled. "You have, I think, a few very good friends. If you choose to remember… Calista, you may find yourself very grateful for that fact."

"I'm  _never_  telling any of my friends," she insisted, stubbornly; how could she, when she knew they'd never see her the same, afterwards? Knowing her mother bore the Dark Mark was one thing; knowing she had a version of it on her own skin was something else entirely.

"That's your choice as well," Severus said, with some finality. "I only wanted you to be aware that it  _is_  a choice, now. Or -"

"It will be on Sunday," she finished.

Severus nodded. "Yes," he said, "It will be on Sunday."

He lifted his hands from her shoulders, and exhaled, again.

"We will have dinner shortly," he said, "Though I suspect that you will not want to take it in the Great Hall?"

"As usual, you suspect correctly," she managed, trying to feel normal, though it seemed nearly impossible given everything that had just been said. She hadn't been since she'd received the letter; because she still didn't think she could face Marcus Flint without getting herself expelled, she had also spent precious little time in the Slytherin dungeon at all. In fact, she was beginning to feel as if she'd simply moved back into her father's quarters, for all the time she'd spent there, this year.

He nodded. "We will return to my quarters, then. First, however, I must have a few _very brief_  words with the Headmaster. I imagine he is well aware that we need to have them, and I suspect that he is waiting not very far outside this door to do so."

"Shall I… come with you, then?" she wondered. Severus considered, and then shook his head. "This won't take long, and I'd rather - well. I'm sure the Headmaster is very eager to go enjoy his lemon meringue. He'll have no time or inclination to speak further with any  _students_ , I expect, however briefly and in passing - no, it's better that you stay here. I'll knock momentarily to fetch you."

That was odd; she was nearly certain she'd detected a note of anger, but why would he be angry about the Headmaster speaking with her, when  _he_  was the one who had brought her here for this very purpose?

She pondered that, briefly, while her eyes roved over the room. She couldn't help but look at the silvery vials on the Headmaster's desk; she considered reaching out to touch one of them - hers - but something stopped her.

She shifted her eyes again, deliberately, and then they landed on something that was shabby, and dirty, and decidedly out of place among the other objects on the shelf it sat upon. Everything else was shiny, and this particular item was so drab, she almost missed it.

A worn, ancient, tatty-looking hat. It was perhaps the most innocuous-looking thing inside the whole office; and yet, Calista felt her heart speed up, to look at it…

She shouldn't; she knew that. She knew the Sorting Hat was for Sorting  _only_. And she'd already heard what it had to say, once…

She glanced towards the doorway. She couldn't hear any sounds that would indicate her father was coming back imminently; but then, she wasn't familiar enough with the acoustics of this office to know whether she should.

She considered; if she  _did_  put the hat on, she might get in trouble. For all she knew, it might sound some sort of alarm, or fire off a curse, if it were tried on by anyone but an incoming first year. But then… if she  _didn't_  try it on, she might never know whether she could have been…

She scowled. She was thinking, too much, again; it was what she  _always_  did, and for once, she decided -

She stepped forward and snatched the hat, before she could change her mind, and jammed it on her head. For  _once_ , she was going to act, instead of only thinking about it.

 _No one but first years for half a century_ , the hat said in her ear.  _And now, two of you inside of a few months. I really must insist on better security; but you're here now, so what can I help you with, Calista Snape?_

She remembered with perfect clarity what she'd said to the hat the first time she'd put it in.  _Anything but Gryffindor_ , she'd willed it, and the hat had complied.

 _You said I could have gone in three different houses_ , she thought, hoping the hat could understand her now just as it had then.  _Slytherin, obviously, and you said Gryffindor. What was the third one?_

 _Ah_ , the hat said,  _Wondering if I made a mistake, are you? I admit, Slytherin wasn't my first choice._

 _Then why_ , she wondered, desperately,  _Did you put me there?_

 _Didn't anyone tell you_ , the hat said slyly,  _That I always take your choice into account_?

 _But I didn't_ ask _for Slytherin_ , she insisted inwardly, to the hat,  _I only asked for anything but Gryffindor_.

The hat chuckled in her ear. A memory started to replay itself in her mind.

_She was on the Hogwarts Express; she was trying to read her book, but the two boys across from her were speaking to her again. She remembered being rather afraid that they were going to try and be her friends, and since it was something she wasn't familiar with, she decided to avoid it._

" _What House are you hoping for?" Oliver Wood asked._

_Percy had spoken up before she'd thought of anything clever to say. "I'm hoping for Gryffindor," he'd said, importantly. "My parents were in it, and both my older brothers as well. Although I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be terrible."_

_He'd cocked his head, reflecting. "You must be going for Ravenclaw yourself," he'd said, "The way you've already got your nose buried in a textbook."_

_Was she hoping for Ravenclaw? She didn't know; but she did know how to end this conversation, before she could say anything stupid that would make them laugh at her._

" _Actually," she said, loftily. "I'm hoping for Slytherin."_

Calista felt a dim sort of nausea grip her stomach.

"But that - that wasn't what I  _really_  wanted," she whispered, despite the fact that she didn't need to speak out loud for the hat to hear her. "I was just trying to stop them from talking to me anymore."

 _Ah, yes_ , the hat said snidely,  _And doesn't that sound like a very Slytherin thing to do?_

Calista felt herself scowling, and felt the insides of her eyes start to sting.

 _That's not fair_ , she said, feeling a sort of internal panic,  _I was_ eleven _. I was - frightened and anxious and completely unsure of who I was._

 _Yes, yes, that's often the thing_ , the hat mused,  _No one really knows who they are at eleven, I suppose. But_ I _do see things. And I'll tell you this, Calista Snape. I very nearly put you in Ravenclaw -_

She felt her heart jump, and then immediately sink; she thought that, in that moment, she would have given almost anything to have grown up living with Amelia, and Gerald, and that beautiful, airy room full of books, and it hurt that she'd somehow managed to rob herself of that chance, without even realising what she'd had to lose…

_But now that I've seen you again, I'm reminded why choices are so important, and I'm very glad I put you where I did._

She scowled, trying to ignore the increasingly insistent burning behind her eyes; she was  _not_  going to cry, now, not over  _this._

 _In Ravenclaw, you might have been happy_ , the hat conceded, silkily, in her ear,  _But in Slytherin, Calista Snape... you will be great._

"Great?" she whispered, angrily, "What the hell is  _that_  supposed to mean?"

The hat had fallen silent; on her head, it suddenly felt like a lifeless, empty thing. She scowled, and ripped it off, as a knock came at the door.

She stuffed it hurriedly back on the shelf, just as her father opened the door, and beckoned her out. She followed him, keeping her eyes trained on the ground. If he noticed that her hair was disheveled, or that she was fighting back the sting of tears, he didn't mention it.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

On Friday, Gerald and Calista both received their independent essays back from Flitwick, with squeals of praise and, in both cases, encouragement to continue their current projects and write an updated essay on their progress, rather than beginning something new.

The professor really seemed to think that both of them were on to something impressive; Calista, with her wandless Freezing Charm, and Gerald, with the Armour Charm he was researching, but even though she normally thrived on praise from teachers, even that couldn't quite cheer Calista up. She'd glanced across at Gerald, and seen his face as solemn and pinched as ever. She had an urge to touch him, and she thought about reaching for his hand again, but since he obviously wanted to talk, and she didn't, she told herself there wasn't any point.

She saw that his hands were shaking when he gathered up his notes at the end of class - she saw a flash of something that looked like a letter - she recalled the one she'd left in the Great Hall, from Narcissa, and wondered if he'd found it again, somehow - but no, that was still in her pocket. She reached her hand in to confirm that fact, and it was. She'd transferred it to the set of robes she was wearing that day, telling herself it was only so Olivia wouldn't snoop and find it, and not because she actually was considering calling her aunt.

She watched him stuff the letter, if that was what it really was, into the cover of one of his books, and then leave the classroom, shoulders hunched. A feeling washed over her suddenly; one that threatened to make her cry, even when, incredibly, nothing else that had happened in the past week had made her do so.

What was the very thing that she and Gerald had agreed on, almost a month ago now, when they'd decided to start pursuing their feelings? That they had to, above everything else,  _preserve their friendship…_ and here she was, single-handedly unraveling the fabric of it, with her silence.

She gathered her things, and looked down both directions in the corridor. He was out of sight already, and she wasn't sure which way he'd gone. She sighed. Maybe that was all right; she didn't know what to say. She knew she  _couldn't_ tell him everything; couldn't tell him much of anything, really. But she had to say  _something_ , so that they could pick things back up… she just needed to figure out what she  _could_  say, before she managed to push him entirely away.

She went to her father's quarters, and crouched on the floor of his study, before the fireplace. She clutched the letter in her pocket, and wondered if this was a waste of her time.

"Calista, darling," Narcissa's elegant voice came through the flames, once Calista had called her up. Her face appeared just behind it. "I'm so relieved to hear from you. We… ah, Lucius received your father's letter, just this morning."

Calista blinked; she had forgotten that her father was going to write to Lucius. Maybe this was a terrible idea, considering.

"I do - that is, darling,  _we_  do - understand his concern. Of course we don't mean to threaten you, and of course Lucius does not at all intend to undermine your father's authority…"

"That letter really upset me," Calista said, a bit fiercely.

"So we've heard, in no uncertain terms," Narcissa said delicately. Calista bit the inside of cheek, unable to resist imagining what sort of  _uncertain terms_  her father might have used; she almost wished she could have seen her Uncle Lucius' face when he read it. "I hope you can understand, though, it came from a place of love and concern…"

"It didn't seem that way."

"I assure you -" Narcissa stopped, and sighed. "Darling, we already know that some of your friends are not pure-blooded…"

"Neither am I," Calista said, savagely; she leaned forward, as if that would somehow drive her point home. "I'm basically a half-blood, and that's the  _same thing_  that Gerald is, and I don't care if you have a problem with it, I... I really like him."

Narcissa's delicate brow arched. "A half-blood?" she echoed.

Calista nodded. "Yes; I know Uncle Lucius doesn't want to hear that, but it's - it's what I am."

Narcissa was shaking her head now. "Not you, darling. Your new young man. We were under the impression - that is, the letter from Oberon - it only mentioned a mother who was a -" she wrinkled her nose, " _Muggle_. Apparently, Marcus saw her dropping your…  _friend_ off at the train a few years ago, and she couldn't pass the barrier."

Calista frowned; Marcus knew Gerald was a half-blood. As a matter of fact, he was the one that had initially told  _her_  that, as she recalled. It was beginning to appear that  not  _only_  had he written to her family without her permission, but he'd also  _lied_  to them. For an instant, she felt herself softening slightly towards her aunt; and then, Narcissa spoke again.

"What's his wizarding bloodline?" she asked, hopefully, "Perhaps this can still be redeemed…"

"Redeemed?" Calista echoed; and she felt a hot flash of anger pulse behind her forehead. "There's nothing  _to_  redeem. Gerald's my - he's my best friend -"

_If I haven't managed to ruin that, yet -_

"And I'm... erm, dating him, sort of, and - and I'm not going to stop just because you don't like him. You haven't even  _met_  him."

"What's this Gerald's surname?" Narcissa asked again, "Perhaps we can have him and his father over for dinner, if  _he's_  a respectable sort. I could write him -"

Calista felt her anger grow, threatening to spiral out of control, even though Narcissa couldn't possibly know what an awful thing that was to say, about Gerald.

"No," Calista said, firmly, "You can't. If you do, I swear I'll never talk to you again. Leave him - leave his family out of this. Gerald's kind to me, and he cares about me, and I'm happier spending time with him than I've ever been spending time with anyone else, and if you really _do_  care about me and want me to be happy the way you always  _say_  you do, then that should be all you need to know about him."

Narcissa's eyes went wide; or at least, the shadows around them did, and her brows shot up. It was hard to make out details, in the flames.

"Oh,  _Calista_ ," she said, in something almost like a sigh. "Of course all of that matters. Of course I - of course we - want you to be happy."

"Good," Calista said; she thought her heart might burst out of her chest, still. This had been even more difficult than she'd imagined, standing up to her aunt.

"But darling, you're  _not_  a half-blood," Narcissa continued, and Calista tensed. "Your father's mother was a pureblood, you know; moreover, on your mother's side... You know of course that the Blacks are widely regarded as one of the finest wizarding families in the world, and I've seen Aunt Walburga's tapestry, my dear, and you _haven't_  been burned off, so there's still hope. You can still make a good marriage, and as the generations move on - the bad blood will be diluted, more and more…"

Calista blinked; if the rage had subsided, it was back now.

"A  _good marriage_?" Calista echoed, "Generations…  _diluted?_  I'm not... I'm not-"

 _A thestral for breeding_ , she wanted to say, but her aunt's speech, the reference to the Black family tree, had reminded her, suddenly, that she was on dangerous ground. It was one thing to appear to rebel in her personal choices; it was another thing if she created the impression that her father's acceptance of her choices were anything other than an exception on her behalf.

"I'm not ever getting married," she said instead, echoing something she'd said when she was younger, "And I don't want to have children."

Narcissa laughed. "Of course, darling, I haven't forgotten."

"I'm serious," Calista said; she narrowed her eyes. "And I'm serious about Gerald. I like him, and that's not changing, and - and if you can't accept that, then I don't want to hear it."

"I think," Narcissa said, craftily, "I'll borrow a phrase from your father, here, Calista. And that is -  _we'll see_."

Calista opened her mouth, to argue some more, but Narcissa cut her off neatly.

"Oh," she said, sweetly, "And happy birthday, darling."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

She saw Marcus on Saturday morning when she stepped into the common room; he was working on what looked like a Quidditch diagram, and his attention was focused on it. She started to walk past him, relieved to avoid him. She stuffed her hands in her pockets, and felt a half-crumpled sheet of paper: Narcissa's letter. Suddenly, a spark of anger erupted in her gut, and she turned, marching back to where Marcus sat.

He looked up; several expressions crossed his face in rapid succession; she caught surprise, puzzlement, and finally, caution.

"Cal-" he started, and she interrupted; she deliberately withdrew her hands from her pockets because she was legitimately afraid she might curse him if she did not.

"How could you do that to me?" she asked, harshly. "You had no right! No right at all."

Marcus frowned, blankly. "Erm. Maybe I could answer if I had any clue what you're talking about."

"You  _know_  what I'm talking about," she snarled, "Think a little harder."

"I haven't done  _anything_  to you," Marcus insisted, "and before you start hexing me, I haven't done anything to any of your stupid friends, either."

" _You wrote to my family_ ," she said, drawing the words out in a low voice. She expected, any second now, to see the acknowledgement of it in his face - the guilt, or perhaps he would be pleased with himself for doing it; it didn't matter. By the end of this, she'd  _make_  him sorry he'd done it.

But -

"No," Marcus said, shaking his head quickly, "No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did," she persisted, "I got a letter from my uncle, telling me all about how Oberon Flint - your father - wrote and told him I was making ' _questionable associations'_."

The words twisted out of her mouth, tasting as bitter as she made them sound.

Marcus' brow furrowed, and then an expression of clarity dawned in his grey eyes.

"Oh," he said, and Calista snarled, and narrowed her eyes.

"Yes," she hissed, " _Oh._ "

Marcus was shaking his head now; he stood up, practically shoving his chair aside; Calista took an involuntary step back, but he didn't come any closer.

"I didn't write to your family," he said, quickly, with some force. "I swear I didn't. I wouldn't."

The strangest thing was that, as far as she could tell - and she had  _always_  been able to tell, with Marcus - he appeared to be telling the truth. But then...

"Then  _how_  did my uncle come to hear from your father, about  _me_?"

"I wrote to my Dad," Marcus admitted, shifting uncomfortably, "When I heard you were going with  _him_. And yeah, I said a bunch of nasty stuff about Boot, because I fucking  _hate_  him. But I didn't think - I had no idea he'd write to your uncle, Calista. I wouldn't do that to you."

She glowered; she still didn't quite want to believe him, despite what his face was telling her.

"Why  _wouldn't_  you?" she muttered, and now it was Marcus who looked irritated.

"Uh, because I wouldn't hurt you on purpose," he said, angrily. "I know you think I'm this horrible person now, but just because I hate  _Boot_  doesn't mean -" he scowled. "Every time I see that smarmy little arsehole I want to hit him - but I don't, because you  _told me to leave him alone_  -"

"And because I'll curse you if you do," she reminded him, anger sparking along her veins at the way he was talking about Gerald.

"Fine,  _yeah_ , that too," Marcus admitted, savagely. "And you know what? If it wasn't for both of those things, I  _would_  do something to him. I'd smash his face in -"

Marcus backed up a step; she knew her eyes must be flashing dangerously. She  _felt_  dangerous.

"But I wouldn't do anything to  _you_ ," he continued, swallowing. He deflated, suddenly. "I'd never do anything bad to you on purpose," he finished, and the worst part of it, or perhaps the best part, though it was hard for her to decide which way to see it, was that he appeared completely sincere.

Suddenly, she was the one who deflated; no matter what else he had said or done, she knew that he was telling the truth now; he hadn't written to her family.

"I am sorry my dad did that," he offered, uncertainly, and then he shook his head, bewildered and somewhat hurt. "But I can't believe you really thought  _I'd_  do that to you."

"Fine," she said, because she didn't know what else to say; then she shook her head. "Then I - I guess I'm sorry I thought you asked him to do that."

Marcus nodded. "Erm. Thanks."

He paused, and then took a breath; he looked like he might say something else, but Calista wasn't ready for whatever it was; despite the awkward semi-peace they'd just tried to make, she couldn't get the things he'd said about Gerald, and all of the things he'd  _done_ to Gerald, out of her mind.

"I have to go to my extra lessons now," she said, putting her hands back in her pockets and turning away.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Saturday afternoon, Calista kept stealing glances at Gerald, while both of them worked on their potions. She didn't know what she'd hoped to accomplish, by speaking with her aunt; she supposed she'd wished that her aunt would understand, would accept that she wanted to be with Gerald, might even stop asking after his blood status;  _then_ , she might have asked her aunt for advice, on how not to ruin things, like she seemed to be bent on doing…

But if she  _had_  hoped for Narcissa to accept her relationship with Gerald, then really, the conversation had gone as well as she could realistically expect; even her father had warned her that her aunt and uncle would not respond positively at first. Like with many things, perhaps  _we'll see_  was the brightest horizon she could hope for.

Something caught her eye, suddenly; over his cauldron, Gerald's face was drawn, and his hand was trembling; but it wasn't even  _that_  that had caught her eye, sending her heart racing in alarm -

" _Subsisteum_ , _"_ she whispered, quickly, hastily tracing a familiar runic pattern in the air with her fingers; she didn't even have time to go for her wand, and even if she  _did_  she didn't want to point it at him unexpectedly; but wandless, her freezing spell wasn't strong enough, yet, to stop a person, so she aimed it at his cauldron, instead. She kept mouthing the spell, moving her fingers, until Gerald looked up, bewildered; he took his cauldron off the flames, and Calista exhaled, releasing the spell.

"Calista, what-" Gerald started.

"You're making the  _poison_ ," she reminded him, " _Not_  the antidote - if you add those porcupine quills to that potion while it's over the flame, it's going to blow up in your face."

It was an extraordinarily simple mistake; the very same one, in fact, that her father had stopped her from making when she was eight or nine years old, down in his workroom. One that she never expected Gerald, of all people, to make.

His eyes were wide now, as he realised what he'd nearly done; hastily he cleared the contents of his cauldron.

"I'll start over," he murmured, "Can't believe I did that…"

"I think," Calista said, and she did draw her wand now, and aimed it the flame beneath her own cauldron, extinguishing it; she cleared her own partially finished potion, too: once she let it cool at this stage, it would be no good, anyway. "Maybe we should forget about the potions, for now."

"No," Gerald said, shaking his head, "This one's sure to be on the exam -"

"Then we'll make it next week."

"That's really not necessary," he said, and as she watched him, a familiar transition occurred in his face. His eyes went blank, and his expression cleared.

"I'm fine," he said, in a near-perfect imitation of what she'd been saying to him all week… and then Calista felt a jolt in her gut, as if she'd been hit with a Blasting Curse… because that expression, that transition, they  _were_  utterly familiar - but not on  _his_  face.

"Oh my - " she blurted out, before she could think clearly, "You're - you're an  _Occlumens_."

Gerald's expression was anything but blank, now; he looked startled.

"How - how did you - I mean…" He swallowed; there was something like fear now, playing around the edges of his face. His hands were trembling again, or maybe they had never stopped. "What makes you say that?"

"I just saw -" she said, and she shook her head; and of  _course_ , now that she was thinking of it, hadn't she seen just that look, that careful, pinched,  _impassive_  look on his face, dozens of times? And yet, she'd never witnessed the transition, and so she'd never really connected it…

"I'm so  _stupid_ ," she said, disbelievingly, "I can't believe I never put it together before - that's why I didn't know - that's why I can't -"

She almost laughed, even though she knew by his expression it would not have been the wisest course of action; he was trying desperately to control it again, but she could see the fear, and she shook her head, quickly, because  _she_  of all people, knew why he might be afraid for her to know that.

"It's not what you might think," he said, quietly, as if confirming the precise thing she'd just thought of, "I can't - I can't read any of your thoughts, I promise. It's only - Occlumency is only guarding my own, and I…"

He swallowed, looking pained; Calista stepped around the table between them, and reached for his hands.

"I know that," she said, gently interrupting him, "Because I - Gerald, I'm  _also_  an Occlumens."

He blinked, and he let go of one of her hands, to push his glasses nervously up the bridge of his nose. "You _are_?" he asked, finally, and then he shook his head, and reached for her hand again. "Of course you are," he said, "It explains so much…and there's a certain logic to it, of course…I can't believe I didn't realise..."

"That was it," she told him, quietly, "The - the thing you asked, a few weeks ago. The first magic I ever did. It was Occlumency, only of course I didn't know it at the time."

He nodded, slowly, as if it was just dawning on him. "And you couldn't tell me, of course," he said, "Because you thought I might not understand…"

"Something like that, yes… and I assume you, erm, felt the same way, about telling me."

"Well, I suppose I also thought - or I told myself I thought - that there wasn't much to tell. I'm not - I'm not formally trained, if there even is such a thing. I just… realised when I was small that I was good at keeping secrets, and then, when I got older, I found some books. I've tried to practise, some, but mostly it's still just instinctual, when I'm… when I'm… well, when I'm afraid, I suppose."

She considered this, and then frowned. "But you were doing it just now, when I said we should talk… you're not afraid… I mean, it's not because of  _me_ , is it?"

Gerald smiled ruefully. "No, of course it isn't, Calista. I just didn't want to burden you. I know you have your own things going on. And I'll manage; I always have."

She felt a prick of guilt again, and an overwhelming rush of friendship; so that was where it had all gone. It was still inside her this whole time, only she'd been - well, forcing it down, like she did almost everything she was afraid to face head-on.

"But you don't  _like_ to keep things to yourself," she said, remembering what he'd said a couple of day ago. "To - to live inside your own head."

"No," he agreed sadly, "I don't. But you have your own troubles, and you're not ready to talk about them, and I understand that…"

"Gerald," she said, and she squeezed his hands, "I can't always - I might not be ready to talk, about everything. But I - I'm always going to be willing to listen, if  _you_  want to talk about something."

Relief flooded his face, his demeanour, like a tidal wave. "Are you," he ventured, looking like he hardly dared to hope, "Are you certain?"

" _Yes_ ," she said, and she used their joined hands to bring herself a little closer to him. "Not only am I certain, but…I promise."

He smiled a little, although there was still something sad in it; some of the fear she'd seen earlier still showed, in the nervous flickering of his mouth, and in the crease between his eyebrows; she didn't know, though, if he was even still trying to hide it.

He exhaled, and she saw him swallow. "I… got a letter, too," he said, finally. "My father's writing to me again."

"Isn't he -" she frowned, carefully, "You said he went to Azkaban…"

"Yes," Gerald said; his gaze flicked over her, taking inventory, at the mention of the word; but it had come out of her own mouth, and she was expecting, and she was all right. She tried to look encouraging, so he would know that, and would continue with his own story.

"He did go to Azkaban, for two years. I was halfway through my second year when he was released, and I think I spent the entirety of that spring being afraid he would just - show up one day. I hardly slept; I had nightmares every night. Some of them seemed so real I almost convinced myself he had, a few times... It's a miracle, frankly, that I passed my exams that year…"

She squeezed his hands again, gently; she  _knew_  the fear he was describing, knew the tired, strung-out ache of waking, night after night, from dreams that were too close to memories. In fact… if he'd been living that while he was a second year, then they'd very likely gone through it at the same time, at opposite ends of the castle.

"As time went on, and I didn't hear from him, I suppose I started to relax - started to really believe that he wasn't going to come back… and then, almost a year later, I got a letter, at Christmas, and it was the strangest thing, just - 'Hello Gerry, my boy, how are you doing? Sorry I missed your last birthday. Let's have a visit. I'll take you out.'"

Calista felt a prickle of horror in her stomach, when she imagined how she might feel if she received a similar letter; but then, hadn't she, in a way? Hadn't Bellatrix invited her, repeatedly, to communicate, through the fabric of her dreams?

"Did you go?" she asked him.

"Of course I did," Gerald said, unhappily. "I was thirteen, and all of my friends had fathers who took them places, who… helped them choose their school subjects, and… reminded them to stay out of trouble. I thought… perhaps Azkaban had worked. Perhaps he'd changed, perhaps he was sorry for the way things had gone…"

He shook his head. "Anyway, that went exactly as you'd imagine. It was -  _he_  was - all right the first few times. A few… a few nasty names, a couple of times he startled me, grabbed me too roughly, but mostly okay. Then he asked me to…"

He sighed. "I had gotten us - I don't know if you've ever heard of it, the Obfuscation Office - they redirect owl post, when there's someone you need to hide from, make sure all of your personally identifiable records are hidden from the public record, that sort of thing. My mum's a Muggle, so she couldn't file for it. I guess the Muggles do have a similar sort of thing, but it wouldn't have hidden us from a wizard for long, so I filed the paperwork. It's very difficult to get, but if you  _can_ , it's ideal, since it requires a court judgment to be taken  _out_  of the program. Or, it turns out… the initial filer can recant the paperwork, and it all falls apart…"

She felt her eyes widen; she could almost feel the dread, the guilt, the confusion he must have gone through. Hadn't Bellatrix done the same thing, by asking her, all those times, to remember? To _let her in_. She released one of his hands, and touched his shoulder, gently, instead.

He looked at her, and he stepped closer; he seemed to almost be leaning into her hand on his shoulder.

"How did he get in touch with you?" she wondered, and Gerald frowned.

"Hogwarts," he said, "The charms they use, to intercept the post - they only work if the person writing doesn't know exactly where to find you. We'd moved, so he couldn't write to the house, but once I was at school… and anyway, the worst part is, when he asked me to reverse the filing...I  _almost did it_."

She could see that it pained him to admit it this, but she understood perfectly. What had she told her father, after a nightmare where Bellatrix had reached out to her, had promised they could start over?  _I wanted to believe her. I wanted her to be my mother._ She tightened her grip reassuringly on Gerald's shoulder, and he smiled sadly.

"I got all the way to the Ministry. He'd taken me there, but he decided to wait outside. Now, of course, I realise it's because he  _knew_  they'd see he was coercing me into reversing the filing, if he came along, but he said he was trusting me to be responsible, to… to fix the family, with the implication that it was me who had broken it in the first place…"

"You didn't do anything wrong," she told him quietly, and he nodded.

"I realise that, now," he said, but she could hear the doubt in his voice, and she squeezed his shoulder again.

"You didn't," she repeated, "But that's part of - it's part what they do, I think, to try and take control. She…  _they_ … want you to think that it's your fault."

 _Idiot girl_ , she could practically hear her mother screeching, even after all these years; and then, later:  _You were useless, then. You are not, now._  As if that was supposed to excuse everything that Bellatrix had ever done to her; as if that would repair all of the broken places inside her.

Gerald wriggled his hand, causing her to release it, and then his fingers were by her temple, brushing a strand of hair away from her face; she hadn't even realised it had fallen there.

"You're very wise," he said quietly, "I wish I'd known you better when I was younger."

"Oh," she managed, and she found that, somehow, the light touch his fingers, the sharp, solid feeling of his shoulder beneath her palm, were grounding enough to let her own ghosts float up ahead of her, in that moment; she could feel the image, the memory, of her mother slipping away from the forefront of her mind. "I wasn't really very wise, then. I still don't think…"

"Well," Gerald said his voice firm, and though her hair wasn't in her face anymore, his fingers were still in her hair; he was rounding her ear now, slowly, fingers just brushing the tip of it. "You're certainly wise now; don't even try to argue with that. I won't hear it."

"Well," she said attempting to mirror his firm tone precisely, "Even though we didn't really know each other then, we do now. So that's why I'm  _telling_  you, now, that you didn't do anything wrong."

She was suddenly very attuned to every single point of physical contact between them; the hollow between the bones of his shoulder and the way her fingertip sunk into it when he moved; the tips of his fingers, that brushed the side of her neck now, as they ran slowly down through the strands of her hair; the fingers of his other hand coming up, to touch her hair just the same way on the other side of her face - but that was new - and he was touching the edge of her ear now on that side, and she had never imagined that someone touching her  _ear_  of all things would feel so nice…

"I think I'm mucking this up," she murmured, "I'm supposed to be listening, and now all I'm thinking about is how much I want you to kiss me."

"That - ah, might be my fault," Gerald said, quietly; she wasn't even aware of which of them closed the distance between them, but one or both of them did, and then he  _was_  kissing her, or she was kissing him; the distinction didn't seem to matter, not when warmth was spreading through her, setting her blood simmering like a cauldron at a perfect boil.

She remembered, after a moment, that all of this had started because Gerald had gotten a letter, and she pulled back, reluctantly.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, "I forgot, you were trying to tell me something."

"You know," he said, "I think - I think perhaps I've talked about it enough, for today."

"But I promised I would listen - "

He nodded. "You did listen, and it helped me. And now… now I'd really like to keep kissing you, if that's all right. Because I think that's helping me, too."

She leaned forward this time, and pressed her mouth to his; his fingers were brushing her ear again, and  _how_  could that possibly feel the way it did? She shivered; it was almost enough to make her forget…

"Wait," she breathed, sucking in a gulp of air and pulling back. "Our potions - my father -"

He flushed, suddenly; his brown eyes were suddenly contrite.

"I forgot," he said, sheepishly, and then: "I can't believe I forgot…"

"Well," she said ruefully, releasing his shoulder, "I forgot, too…"

He withdrew his hands from her hair; she was sorrier for that than she thought she ought to be. He turned back to his workstation, and busied himself with measuring out the ingredients; she rounded the table, and checked that she'd thoroughly cleared her cauldron of any traces left over from her prior attempt.

"Perhaps we should switch," she suggested, glancing across at him. "Perhaps I should make the poison, and you should make the antidote. I think you're better at that, anyway."

"Oh, I don't know," Gerald said, smiling sweetly at her over his cauldron, "I'd argue that you're very good at antidotes, too. Better than you realise, I think."

"Are you... are you flirting with me again?"

His smile widened. "I think I might be."

"Good," she said, and for the first time in days, she felt herself start to smile, too. "Don't stop."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Calista still had dueling lessons the morning of her birthday, which she thought seemed grossly unfair; especially with the way her father had been tiptoeing around her in the last week, she had been certain he'd cancel them that day.

She'd hardly slept, once again; if she'd hoped that whatever was going to happen with the spell that Bellatrix had attached to her - if she'd hoped to feel the severing of their connection - she was disappointed, and haunted by the same vague, half-remembered dreams that had been plaguing her for weeks. The ones that Severus theorised came from the bits of her own memory, rather than from any attempt to reach out to her.

While she washed and dressed, she examined the contents of her mind, scanning for something - anything - that didn't belong; lately, it was such a part of her morning routine that she remembered to do it more often than she remembered to brush her teeth.

There was nothing, again; or, rather, there were a lot of things; a lot of threads of her mind that tried to tug her down into sadness, a lot that made her tingle with fear: but all of them belonged entirely to her. She wondered if taking back that memory -  _the_  memory - would mean that it would also belong to her. The way it stood now, she still thought of it as belonging to her mother.

She pushed those thoughts - all of them - away, for now. She dressed, in her favourite yellow blouse and black trousers. She'd finally remembered to have her laundry done. She put a matching yellow hairband in and then applied cosmetics; even though she didn't really have any plans besides dueling lessons during the day, she  _did_  still have a patrol with Gerald that evening.

She reflected that she was a bit surprised none of her friends had offered to do anything with her on her birthday. In prior years, she and Amelia would normally nick food from the kitchens and goof off for a few hours during either of their birthdays, and she'd thought Gerald might want to see her, outside of patrols and lessons - but then, Gerald was very busy studying for his N.E.W.T.s on top of everything else, and she supposed that Amelia probably had plans with Endria. And anyway, she told herself,  she  _was_  seventeen now, and too old to feel hurt over something as small as her friends forgetting her birthday, right?

She took a cursory glance around the common room, but none of her friends appeared to be around, not even Daisy or Sofia. She sighed, and treaded the familiar path to her father's office.

He wasn't in there, so she let herself into his quarters. She still couldn't believe he was making her have lessons today; in years past, he'd  _always_  let her off extra lessons that fell even within a few days of her birthday.

The aroma of coffee caught her attention, and led her into the kitchen; well, at least he'd gotten  _that_  right.

Severus was just setting a mug down at her place; a breakfast with all of her favourite foods was already set out, and there was a small pile of what appeared suspiciously like gifts in the corner of the room. She made out a stack of several books, though they were too far away for her to see what they were, and something larger and oddly-shaped behind it. It looked like a pile of blankets. She wrinkled her nose curiously, as she slid slowly into her usual chair.

"Eat first," Severus commanded; it was the first time in a week that he'd nagged her to do do. " _Then_  I suppose you can have your presents."

She did eat, at least a little bit, but there was something that was tugging at the edges of her mind, something she had to say…

"Dad," she said, setting a triangle of toast down, "I don't - I don't feel any different."

"I can check, if you want," he offered, quietly; she nodded. She was glad he understood what she was saying, without her having to verbalise what it was she wanted him to check for.

He came around to the side of her chair, and drew his wand. She looked up at him, and nodded, a second time.

" _Legilimens,"_ he said, and unlike in her proper lessons, she didn't try to resist the intrusion; instead, she concentrated only on guarding her private thoughts, on redirecting them to the back of her mind.

She felt a tendril of his presence, but that was different from their lessons, too; he wasn't examining her thoughts or testing the strength of her barriers. He seemed to be searching for something in particular…

After a while, she felt him tug and prod at something in the deep recesses of her mind, beyond where she normally had her third, her strongest, barrier erected. She shivered, and felt her skin prickle, and a flash of an image blazed across her mind's eye, brief and powerful as lightning -

_\- her scars, pale white lines that portrayed a familiar, sinister shape -_

She braced herself for the pain that always came, when she remembered anything about the scars, but it never came. There wasn't even the slightest twinge of it.

Severus withdrew, carefully, from her mind.

"The Trace is lifted," he said, quietly, "And so are any other enchantments that were attached to it."

She blinked, hardly daring to believe that it was true, even after he'd told her this was likely going to happen…

"So then," she said, "That means…"

She took a deep breath. And then she said something she'd been waiting a very long time to say.

"She's gone."

Severus nodded.

"Yes, Calista. She's gone."

She felt a sense of relief so keen it was heavy; something was burning at the back of her eyes, but she  _didn't_  want to cry. Perhaps Severus sensed that she might, and didn't want her to, either; suddenly, he had turned away, busying himself with the stack of books in the corner. He carried them over, and set them on the table in front of her.

"You left one of your books in my office a few weeks ago," he told her, and then, drily:

"There was a page of notes in it - Impressive, really, the number of different runic languages you appear to know how to write 'owl' in…"

She felt herself blush; she didn't even realise she was doing it sometimes, until she looked back at her notes, later.

"You'd also marked down several references to follow up on," he continued, in a businesslike tone, "And I took the liberty of purchasing them for you."

She scanned the row of titles; there was slim green volume titled  _Origins of Legilimency_ , and a thicker, leather volume called  _From Within: Obtaining Mastery of the Mental Arts._ There were three books on runes, too: Two whose titles were in Latin, and a third called  _Analysing Runic Patterns._

She felt herself smile; she knew exactly which list this was from, and which book she'd left it in. She had also thoroughly checked the Hogwarts library and his own shelves for all of them and had come up empty.

"It's for my research," she told him, "The idea you had, actually. I want to try to find runes to practise Legilimency wandlessly."

"I gathered as much," he said. "There were a few others on your list that I already own, at the house. I'll lend them to you over the summer."

"Thank you, Dad, these are great. I can hardly wait to start reading them…"

Already, her fingers started creeping to the top book in the pile; perhaps she could just skim the index, for now...

"Your…  _notes_ … gave me another idea, too," he said; she glanced up, and saw he was approaching whatever was under the pile of blankets… except now, without the books obscuring it, she could see that it was only a single blanket, and underneath the edges she could make out the thin wires of a cage.

" _Did_ you get me another cat?" she blurted out, even though she thought he'd be more likely to buy her her own house.

"I would sooner burn myself at the stake," he said, without a trace of irony. He lifted the cage - that was definitely what it was - over to the table and set it there, removing the blanket.

A medium-sized owl with long, tufted ears and an attractive white-and-brown pattern of feathers huddled within; when the blanket was lifted, it opened round, yellow eyes and regarded her solemnly. Then it ruffled its feathers and elicited a small, sleepy hoot.

Calista blinked several times, rapidly. "Is this - this is  _mine_?"

"Well, technically, since a student is only allowed one pet while at school and you've still got that wretched cat, I've told the Headmaster it's mine, but yes, she's yours. Something tells me you'll be writing a lot of letters next year, and I  _would_  like to retain the use of my own owl, occasionally."

She smiled again; it was the second time that day. "Thanks, Dad, this is great. Probably the best birthday gift you've ever gotten me - except for Yellow, of course…"

Severus's lip curled involuntarily at the mention of the cat.

"I suppose I should bring her up to the owlery," Calista mused. "I'll need to think what to call her, too…"

She stood, and put her fingers through the loop at the top of the cage, but Severus cut in; when she looked at him, his eyebrows were raised.

"The owlery?" he echoed, "Have you forgotten that I've blocked off the next few hours of your timetable?"

She sighed. "No, but I was hoping  _you_  had. I'm really going to have lessons  _today_?"

Severus prickled. "Not precisely, I suppose. There is, however ,something you need to  _attend to_ , this morning."

She tilted her head, mentally running through the things he could be referring to - he hadn't assigned her class an essay, unless he was expecting one already on the antidote she'd made yesterday, with Gerald… she tried very hard not to blush again, once her mind had decided to revisit  _that_.

"I'll take care of bringing your owl up to the owlery," he continued. "In the meantime, I think now is a good time for you to find your way to the Charms classroom. I trust today's - ah,  _assignment_  - will be explained there."

"The  _Charms_  classroom?" she echoed; was her lesson to be with someone other than her father, then? But he wouldn't - he'd never expect her to duel someone else. Maybe it wasn't dueling lessons, then - after all, he'd said she wasn't  _precisely_  having lessons, today. Maybe he was giving her a free study period, to work on her research… she reached for the stack of books on the table, deciding that must be it.

"I don't think you'll be needing those this morning," Severus said, "You can leave them here, for now."

She frowned, puzzled, but he wouldn't tell her anything else; she set off for the Charms classroom, wondering what she could  _possibly_ need to 'attend to' there, if it wasn't a lesson and it wasn't her runes research.

She reached the classroom; the door was closed, but she thought she could hear voices from within. Whatever it was, then, it appeared that it wasn't a solitary activity.

She tried the knob; it turned easily. She pushed the door open, and…

Her eyes went wide; with effort, she stopped herself from actually opening her mouth in surprise.

The Charms classroom had been transformed; there were brightly coloured balloons floating around near the ceiling, and a banner along the back wall that said 'Happy Birthday, Calista!'.

Several desks appeared to have been pushed together at the centre of the room, and there was a pile of wrapped gifts on top of it, and food, too, it looked like.

The thing that surprised Calista most of all - the thing that had nearly made her drop her jaw in shock - was that the classroom was also filled with all of her friends.

She saw Amelia and Endria, lining up bottles of butterbeer on the table. Daisy Spratt was laughing about something with Sofia, and Eva was poking around the table full of gifts, picking things up experimentally. Penny was aiming her wand at a balloon that was sliding across the room; a star pattern appeared on it and started to flash different colours. Even Percy was there, bossing a few of the younger Slytherins, Daisy's other friends, around, directing them to recolour balloons and move chairs.

Gerald was there, too; he was fussing with the placement of the banner when she opened the door, but then Endria called to him and pointed to where Calista had just pushed the door open and he hurried over to her.

He smiled, rather shyly. "Happy birthday," he said, quietly; behind him, a few of her friends were watching them. Amelia and Endria were grinning, but Daisy and Sofia were still chatting, and Percy was still being bossy.

She looked back at Gerald. "What… what is all this?" she managed, and Gerald's expression turned serious.

"Well," he said, "It's a birthday party. You said you'd never had one, and I just thought, that's unacceptable."

"You got all of my friends to come…"

"Well, yes. That's generally how birthday parties work. They all helped. Penny with the balloons, and Sofia and Daisy made the banner… Amelia and Endria got butterbeer, and Percy… well, Percy's bossing everyone around."

His mouth twitched, and then his shy smile returned. "I figured you'd probably never had a birthday  _cake_ , either…"

She shook her head.

"So we made one of those, too," he said, "I got special permission to use the kitchen last night… your dad helped me with that, actually. I baked it, but I'm not particularly artistic, so Eva decorated it. She did a very good job, I must say."

"Gerald… I can't believe you did all of this…"

 _Even though I've been miserable all week_ , she thought; and then she remembered that  _he_  must have been awfully distracted all week, too, and  _still_  he'd managed to do all of this, and involve all of her friends.

"In about three seconds," she said, hearing a slight emotional tremor in her voice, "I'm going to hug you."

He grinned, and then she did hug him. She wrapped her arms around him tightly, and kissed his cheek, not caring that all of her friends were looking at them, now.

"Oh, come on," Amelia teased, "We all know you two are an item. Give him a  _real_  kiss."

She pulled back slightly; Gerald's cheeks were turning pink, and she could tell by the familiar warmth in her face that hers were, too. She smiled at him, a little slyly, and then she tightened her grip on him again, putting her mouth near his ear under cover of hugging him once more.

" _I will_ ," she whispered, in his ear.  _"Later_."

Gerald reached for her hand and squeezed it gently as they separated.

" _Je compte les minutes,"_ he murmured quietly,  _I'm counting the minutes_ ; and then, in a normal tone: "Come on. I want to show you the cake."


	16. Chapter 16

Calista's father had advised her to think about the return of her memory as little as possible until it was time to decide whether or not to take it back, but - like much of the advice he had given her over the years - it was easier said than done.

In fact, in the weeks following her birthday, Calista felt as if she was trapped in one of the Headmaster's silvery vials herself; until she took the memory back, or decided not to, she, too, was suspended, incomplete - and, like the vials, everything appeared fine, on the outside. The darkness was where no one could see it.

Her aunt and uncle had invited her and Severus over for for Easter dinner; Calista was trying to convince her father to refuse and insist on staying at the school, because she didn't want to face them, but she had a feeling it was an argument she wasn't going to win, despite Severus' ire at what Lucius had written her.

Narcissa had sent Calista an unprecedented amount of new clothing and hair accessories for her birthday. Calista supposed they were meant to be a peace offering, but since Draco had told her that his mother had written to  _him_  to ask what Gerald's surname was, Calista was refusing to wear any of them on principle; she had also not answered the last letter she'd received from her Aunt Narcissa, though she  _did_  answer the brief one Andromeda had sent, wishing her a happy birthday.

Narcissa's last letter, after she'd written to Draco and learned Gerald's identity, didn't mention him at all; it only reiterated how eager she was to see Calista over Easter, and said they had 'much to discuss'. Calista felt uneasy; what if that meant that Narcissa  _was_  pleased with what she'd discovered, and was planning on moving forward with her plan to contact Gerald's family, despite Calista's telling her not to?

She didn't think Narcissa would do that after Calista had asked her so expressly and forcefully not to, but was she willing to bet on it? She imagined what he might feel like if his next unwanted letter from his father said anything about being in touch with  _her_  family; if their roles were reversed, Calista knew she'd feel as if she'd been horribly, utterly betrayed. Since she  _couldn't_  let that happen, couldn't allow herself to make him feel that way, she had only one option: she had to tell him.

She wanted, naturally, to put it off, but when she looked at him, as she entered the library one Wednesday evening for their patrol, hunched over a textbook, something pulled at her from the inside, a peculiar sort of ache. She had a flash of a vision, imagining him opening an unwanted letter with shaking hands -

"Gerald," she said, softly, standing by the edge of the study table; he looked up, and a slow smile started and then disappeared, when he took in her expression. "There's something I need to tell you; can we - can we walk?"

"Of course," he said, marking his page, and closing the book; it was the runes book she'd give him for his birthday. The ache appeared, deep in her gut. Concern seeped into his features, a slow tide coming in. "Is everything all right?"

"Not really," she admitted, as he tucked the heavy book under his arm; evidently, he wasn't willing to leave it unattended in the library. "At least, it might not be. I don't know."

She waited until they'd gone out into the corridor, and started along their familiar route to continue talking; it wasn't as good as writing, or tracing rune patterns or celestial orbits, but since there were enough students in the library still that being overheard would have been a tangible risk if they'd stayed there, it would have to suffice.

"That letter I got, a few weeks ago," Calista said, as they rounded the corner into an empty corridor, "The one that I was upset about… it was from my uncle. Draco's father."

He glanced at her and reached for her hand; she took it at first, and then she let it drop, and exhaled. She stopped walking.

"No," she said, "Don't - don't do that until you've heard what I have to say. You might not want to, once - "

Gerald stopped walking too, and turned to face her. Though his features still reflected concern, there was a question in his eyes, too.

"Once you know what my family's like…" she finished, quietly. She looked down, at the stone floor. She didn't want to see his face when she told him what the letter had said.

"You know the kinds of things that Draco has said," she let her eyes follow the path of a spider along the floor, as it scurried away, as if even  _it_  didn't want to be around for this conversation. "And I think I've mentioned where he gets it from. My uncle's letter - it was full of just the sort of rubbish you might expect from someone who speaks like that."

"I'm sorry, Calista," Gerald said carefully. She didn't need to look up to know that he was watching her; she could feel his gaze. "I know that would upset you."

"Well, my aunt sent a letter, too. She asked me to call her on the fire, so I did. She - she asked me about…" she bit her lip, and frowned. A trio of spiders were scrabbling along behind the first, as if they all had somewhere important to be.

 _Or not be_ , she thought, wishing she could go just after them, and never need to Gerald what she was about to tell him.

"She… wanted to know about…"

She couldn't say it; she  _couldn't_.

"About me?" Gerald guessed, quietly. Calista nodded quickly, still not looking up.

"Yes. About you. Only not - not about any of the things that  _matter,_ even though I told her all of those things, anyway. That you're my best friend. That you're kind, and that you make me happy. I told her all that, but she still only wanted to know about… your family…"

"Well," Gerald said, evenly - but she could hear something catch in his voice, despite his careful tone, "My mother's a medical secretary at St. Bartholomew's Hospital. She has one older half-brother, my Uncle Gérald, who I'm named for; as I've mentioned before, he's French, through his father, but his mother was British; most of my family on either side are, though there's some Scottish and Irish on my father's side. I've always heard that we have family in America too, though I've never met any of them; but none of that is what she wants to know, is it?"

"No," she said, miserably, "It's not. She wanted to know your surname and I didn't tell her, but my cousin did, and now I'm afraid… this is the only reason I'm telling you, really… I'm afraid she might try to write to… someone in your family, to try and… meet you. Meet them. If… if they're..."

She felt her mouth twist, as she spat the word out, " _Respectable._  Which doesn't mean what it should, if it's my family saying it…"

She wanted to look up at him, to see what his reaction was, but she  _couldn't_ , in case he was looking at her the way she felt he ought to.

"I see," Gerald said, and his voice was low, and solemn. "And what might your aunt think of as respectable?"

"Well, pure-blooded, of course," Calista said, wrenching the words out; she could hear her voice growing cold. "Or as close to it as possible."

"Then she won't write to anyone," Gerald said, decisively; there was an edge in his voice that managed to sound heavy and dismissive at once. "I don't know much about the Boot side - my father had a falling out with them before I was born, and I've only met most of them in the last couple of years - but I  _do_  know they've intermarried with Muggles and Muggle-borns for a very long time. I guess that would make me, at best - well. Not  _respectable_ , certainly."

She did look up, now, because the bitterness that had dripped off his last three words was so uncharacteristic that it pained her; she felt the sharp ache somewhere inside again, and it only intensified when she saw his face. It was dark, and hurt, and -

He was the one who looked away now, as if something fascinating had materialised to his left. "I suppose it would be very difficult for you to risk displeasing your family," he said, stiffly.

"Well, seeing as I told my aunt that nothing she could ever say about you would make me like you any less - that I'm not going to break up with you  _or_  stop being your friend no matter what she says, and that I'd never talk to her again if she  _did_  go behind my back and write to your family - I'd say I've moved well beyond  _risking_  their displeasure by now. I think I've thoroughly earned it. I suppose I'll find out at Easter, assuming I lose the argument with my father, and we still have to go."

Gerald looked back at her now, and blinked. Most of the heaviness in his face had fallen suddenly away. "You said all of that?"

"Yes, I did; and I'd say it if your family were… were hippogriffs.  _I don't care._ "

He was quiet for a minute. And then: "You know, it's funny you should say that. I  _have_  always wondered what I'd look like with wings..."

Despite herself, she felt the faintest trace of a smile touch her lips. "Still - still extremely cute, I expect. Perhaps a bit more… feathery."

Gerald smiled faintly now, too, and shifted the weight of the book under his arm. Calista could see colour flooding his cheeks, and that made the ache in her gut swell into something else; something warm and full.

"I'm not  _cute_ ," he muttered, and Calista grinned, feeling suddenly light despite everything that still weighed her down.

" _Extremely_  cute," she corrected, "And - sweet, and clever, and -"

"I hope you realise," Gerald interrupted, slyly, "That it's my turn to make  _you_  blush next…"

"I hope  _you_ realise," she said, "That it's not going to happen. I  _don't_  blush."

"Oh, yes you do - and determining when and why is quickly becoming one of my favourite fields of study."

"I know I'm not  _supposed_  to find being compared with homework so endearing… and yet..."

"No, not homework," Gerald said, earnestly. "Homework - essays, charts - they all come to a conclusion. I'd like to think of this more as an… ongoing research project."

Well, that did it; she felt herself blushing furiously. She expected him to grin, or laugh, but his expression was still quite serious, and he was blushing too, just as intensely as she felt like she was.

"Erm," he finally said, after a moment, "We should continue our route, I suppose…"

"Yes," she agreed quickly, "Let's do that."

The ache, the feeling, whatever it was, had moved to her chest now, and it didn't seem like it was going anywhere soon. It curled up somewhere in her rib cage, as comfortable as Yellow always made himself on Calista's pillow. She smiled, faintly; whatever it was, she didn't think she minded it, anymore than she ever minded her beloved cat.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Calista followed her father into his study, and dropped into the closest chair. In a few minutes, she would probably slip into her old room and take one of the books she'd left on top of the dresser there - one of the ones she'd received for her birthday - but for now, for a moment, she just needed to rest.

They had been working for weeks on the same spell, in her dueling lessons:  _Vulnera Sanentur_ , a healing spell with a melodic incantation and an extreme level of difficulty to perfect, though Calista's affinity for Latin-based incantations did help her some. It was easy enough to  _perform_  the spell, but a great deal of focus was required for it to have the maximum effect, and Severus had stressed that they could not move on to their next curse until she could cast this particular healing charm with consistent perfection.

For the first week, she had practised the incantation on the training dummy, but Severus had warned her that casting the spell on a live creature was very different. The following week, he had produced wounded rats for her to practise on, and she had not asked how they had come to be that way; last week and again this week, they had gone into the forest and she had healed the wounds of a goat.

It was difficult practise, not only due to the complexity of the spell, but because Calista hated to see the animals, particularly, the goats, in pain. At least the rats were an animal she had seen dismembered enough in Potions class to be somewhat desensitised to; the goats made her feel ill, when they bleated and squirmed, bleeding.

She had asked her father, last week, if he'd found the goats that way for her to practise, or if he'd wounded them himself; he hadn't answered directly, which told Calista enough.

"Your ability to perform this spell could very well mean the difference, for someone, between life and death," he had said, when she had offered a weak protest to their second trip to the forest, "The cost of magic, Calista - it works both ways. A few minutes' suffering for this creature is unpleasant, certainly, but if it allows you to save a human life, isn't it worthwhile?"

It was; she knew it was true, and yet… these lessons exhausted her, like no other spell-based lessons ever had. When she sank into the chair in his study that particular Sunday afternoon, she was utterly drained, physically and emotionally, and that was why she scowled as soon as her father mentioned Easter.

"I don't want to go," Calista said, as soon as he'd raised the topic of the Malfoys' invitation to attend Easter dinner.

"Ah, why haven't you said so?" Severus asked drily, for she'd been saying so nearly every day since the invitation had been extended.

Calista failed to find the humour in his words; she stared back at him levelly, as if daring him to say she had to go.

"As it happens," Severus continued, "I'm prepared to bargain with you."

"Oh?" She raised a brow, attentively.

"You will attend Easter dinner at Malfoy Manor, and you will be polite and respectful to your aunt and uncle -"

"Why would I agree to that?"

"And  _in return_ ," Severus pressed on, as if she hadn't interrupted, "We will spend the rest of the Easter break at home; we don't need to stay with them."

"No, thank you."

It was Severus' turn to quirk a brow now. "Excuse me?"

"You  _said_  this was a bargain; I don't accept it. I don't want to see them."

"Let me more clearly define the terms, then. The holiday itself is non-negotiable; it's the rest of the break I'm willing to concede. In return for acceptable behaviour at dinner, I am even prepared to allow one of your friends - Miss Slater, perhaps? - to come visit you at home. A _fter_  the holiday, naturally, so I can ensure you keep your end of the arrangement."

Calista tilted her head, eyeing Severus shrewdly.

"Let  _me_  be certain I understand this correctly," she said, archly. "I have no choice in whether or not I have to see them, despite the letters they sent? And I'm expected to be  _respectful_  towards them, even if they don't deserve it? And then, for all of that, I can have a friend of my choosing visit us after the holiday?"

"Your understanding is precisely correct; I will add, in case it is any comfort to you, that I will not allow Lucius to speak to you in the tone of his last letter - a fact which I can assure you he is already well aware of."

"This is the final bargain?" she clarified, "You won't change it?"

Severus exhaled. "Correct."

"All right then," she smirked, slyly, with the air of one playing a trump card. "In that case, I accept the terms. And, oh, the friend I'm choosing, to come visit us is… Gerald."

She waited, expectantly, for his snarl, his insistence that they alter the negotiations, after all. Instead, he only nodded, as if she'd said she was inviting Penny or Daisy. "Very well."

She blinked, rapidly. "I'm inviting Gerald  _Boot_ ," she said, loudly, as if he had not heard her before. "You know - my  _boyfriend_."

"I wasn't under the impression you were particularly friendly with any other Gerald."

"Why aren't you snarling, and curling your lip, like you did every time I asked to see Marcus away from school?"

His lip did curl now.

"That Flint boy was trouble. He had some extremely inadvisable  _notions_  -"

"Eugh, stop," she said, quickly, because she knew precisely what notions Marcus had had, and she didn't particularly want to be reminded of them by her  _father,_ of all people. "I know."

" _If_  Mr. Boot entertains any such notions, he at least appears to have the self-control required to hide them, and - I assume, in turn - refrain from acting on them inappropriately." Severus' eyes bored into her now, and his jaw tightened. "If, however, I'm mistaken in my assessment, please do correct me."

"No, you're correct," Calista said, quickly, beginning to regret driving the conversation down this path. "Gerald's not - he's never - he never  _would_  be - inappropriate. He's always very… erm -" She cast about for a word that would be both truthful and likely to satisfy to her father. "Respectful."

Severus nodded, evidently appeased. "And I expect him to remain so for as long as he wishes to retain my approval of your…  _relationship_."

Calista nodded quickly, eager to change the subject; but then, something occurred to her, and it was leaving her mouth in a sly tone before she had a chance to consider the wisdom of allowing it to.

"Wait a minute...you said  _approval._  You only  _condoned_  my relationship with Marcus - I remember that very clearly - but you  _approve_  of Gerald?"

"Oh, fine, _I suppose so_ ," Severus snarled, reluctantly - almost petulantly, as if she had forced the words out of him - "As much as such a thing is possible, at any rate - by some miracle of gods unknown, you've actually elected to pursue a relationship with perhaps the  _one_  teenaged male I can reluctantly approve of."

"So then," Calista ventured, "You're definitely  _not_  going to let Uncle Lucius or Aunt Narcissa change your mind about him?"

"No more than they'll change yours."

"Even if they keep calling him a half-blood?"  _Or worse._

Severus' face twisted back up into a snarl. " _I'm_  a half-blood."

Calista felt her face pull into an unexpected smile. "Well, then," she said, "That makes two of my favourite people. They'll never convince  _me_  that it's a bad thing for someone to be."

Severus sent a searching gaze over her face. "You know," he said, presently, in a tone that seemed, to Calista, suddenly too intense for the topic at hand, "I doubt whether anyone can truly convince you of anything you don't wish to be convinced of; and despite how difficult that has made  _my_  role over the years, I can't bring myself to condemn that quality in you."

"That sounds almost as if there are qualities you  _do_  condemn in me."

She'd meant it to sound teasing, but it hadn't come out that way; perhaps it was due to the weight of his eyes, searching her still.

"If there were," he questioned, thoughtfully, "What do you think they would be?"

She shifted, slightly uncomfortably. "Well, I'm stubborn. And… not always particularly agreeable… but then, neither are  _you_."

"Stubborn," Severus agreed, nodding. "Willful, certainly at times disagreeable. Also - clever, hard-working, brave, compassionate, strong, and - I dare not neglect to mention - fierce. All qualities I would be hard-pressed to condemn, in my own child. You're also irritable, argumentative, highly secretive, and frequently given to self-imposed isolation. These qualities, I may not always be fond of, and yet - do I condemn them?"

Calista blinked, not quite quailing under his gaze. "I don't know," she said, quietly, " _Do_  you?"

"How can I?" he asked, evenly, "When their end result is undeniably the most remarkable daughter I can imagine having raised?"

She smiled; she felt in that instant that if she were to attempt to produce a Patronus, it would be as bright as any star.

"Well," she said, deceptively light, "Some of that may have something to do with the remarkable man that raised me."

Severus let his gaze fall from her face at last; it slid away, towards the floor, and he rose, suddenly.

"I should go," he said, "I have essays to mark, before classes tomorrow."

"All right," Calista agreed, as her eyes followed him up, and away towards the doorway. "Dad. Can I tell you something, first?"

He paused, and looked at her again, but this time his eyes were carefully devoid of anything heavy. "Of course."

"Two things, actually," she amended, "In no particular order; I love you, and I'm going to take the memory back."

Severus' face twisted into a sad sort of smile.

"I know," he said.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Calista forced herself to accept her aunt's welcoming embrace, as she swept Calista into Malfoy Manor's entrance hall on Easter morning. The only thing, besides her father's warning glare on the way in, that kept her from scowling was the promise of seeing Gerald for nearly an entire day on Tuesday, the day before they would go back to Hogwarts - a day where neither of them had any patrol duties, or homework, or lessons.

She had to remind herself again, when Lucius strode into the sitting room, and she imagined that the glance he sent her way was particularly cold, precisely why she had agreed to play along. She greeted him politely.

Draco was in exceptionally high spirits, and was quite keen to dominate the conversation by boasting to his parents of his Quidditch achievements throughout the year so far. Calista hadn't paid any attention whatsoever to anything Quidditch-related since October, so she had no idea whether his stories were true, and she was perfectly satisfied with that fact.

They made it through dinner, which was a lavish spread, as always, with little incident. There was a tense moment when Draco brought up the Heir of Slytherin, and Calista had been certain she'd been about to hear either father or son say something she'd need to work very hard to keep herself from responding to, but - mercifully, miraculously - Lucius only reminded Draco sharply that he'd been warned not to ask questions.

It wasn't until they took tea in the sitting room after dinner that the topic Calista had been dreading came up; she stiffened the moment Narcissa leaned forward, teacup balanced over her saucer, with a sly sort of smile that Calista recognised all too well.

"Now, Calista, darling - it's high time we discussed the suitability of this young man of yours."

"I would rather we discussed no such thing."

It took Calista a second to realise that the words hadn't come out of her own mouth, even though they'd been bursting to; they'd come from her father's.

"Come now, Severus, you must realise that Calista's seventeen years old now, a proper young lady -"

Draco snorted; Calista shot him a glare, and he coughed hastily.

"Some day she'll want to get married, and start her own family -"

Now it was Calista's turn to conceal a snort of derision; she took a hasty sip of scalding tea.

"- and I'm afraid refusing to acknowledge that won't make it any less true," Narcissa finished.

"Respectfully, Narcissa, I fear you misunderstand; I do not deny, to myself or anyone else, that Calista is - ah,  _involved_  with one of her classmates. I simply feel it is neither imperative nor appropriate to discuss at the moment. Unless, of course, Calista wishes to?"

"No," she said, quickly, shaking her head so emphatically that a drop of tea splashed over the rim of her cup, onto her thumb. "I don't."

"Oh, is that so?" Narcissa asked, managing to sound delicate, "But, darling, you had so  _much_  to say about him a few weeks ago, when we spoke -"

"So did you," Calista snarked, feeling the smolder of anger that had sat in her gut all day spark to life, "Or rather - so did Uncle Lucius."

"Calista," Severus snapped, warningly, and she lowered her eyes to her cup, staring resolutely at her tea and concentrating on breathing evenly.

"No," Lucius said, "Go on, Severus, let her speak. I insist."

Calista didn't need to look at her father to know precisely the look he was levelling at her. She supposed she could guess the expression on her uncle's face, too - haughty, challenging. She elected to look, instead, at the ripples in the surface of her tea, as she continued to systematically inhale and exhale.

"I really don't have anything else to say," she managed, evenly, after several pressing seconds of silence.

"A first, I'm certain," Lucius said drily, but he didn't sound as hostile as she expected; actually, if anything, he sounded amused. She dared a glance up at him; he  _looked_ amused, as well. "Let me speak, then; it appears, once again, my dear, that you've only complicated things unnecessarily with your silence."

She blinked; what in Merlin's name was  _that_  supposed to mean?

"Darling," Narcissa interjected, with a pleased sort of smile, "Why didn't you  _tell_  us that your young man is descended from the founders of Ilvermorny?"

"He - what?"

"Ilvermorny Academy, darling," Narcissa repeated, "It's a very prominent wizarding school -"

"Despite the fact that their admission policy is no better than that at Hogwarts," Lucius interrupted, with an air of stiff disapproval.

"I've heard of Ilvermorny," Calista said, though truthfully she didn't know much of the school beyond its name and location, "But what does any of that have to do with Gerald?"

"The Boots, darling, were once one of the oldest and most prominent pureblood wizarding families in Britain," Narcissa explained, with the air of someone passing out sweets, "Until the sixteenth century, when there was a rivalry with the Flints that ultimately resulted in a curse being laid against the family line. By all historical accounts, It was devastating; the Boot family shrunk rapidly, during the latter half of the sixteenth century and the beginning of the seventeenth; their young fell ill, or they were Squibs, and thus disowned, and soon there were but four individuals left of what had once been a massively influential family. For whatever reason - perhaps whatever curse had been laid on them required it - the four remaining Boots fled to North America. I don't know precisely what became of the parents, but the  _children,_  Chadwick and Webster, were the first students of Ilvermorny, as well as two of its founders."

Something Gerald had said the other day occurred to her, suddenly;  _I've always heard we have family in America, though I've never met any of them_.

"In a _most_ unfortunate turn," Lucius said softly, picking up the thread of Narcissa's revelations before Calista had a chance to think what she was supposed to say in response to all of this, "The line, even though it continued both overseas with Chadwick Boot, and in Britain where Webster Boot later returned, quickly became muddied on this side of the pond. Certainly, no one would call any of the current British line pure-blooded. And yet, they've given rise to many powerful witches and wizards over the centuries, and I understand that the American branch of the family is quite influential over there; one cannot easily dismiss the Boots, no matter how earnestly Webster's line in particular seems to want to dismiss itself…"

Calista wondered if Gerald knew any of this about his own family; he had certainly never mentioned anything about being related to the founders of a well-known wizarding school - and he  _had_  said that he knew little about his father's side of the family… and that thought jolted Calista to remind her aunt of something very important.

"You still can't write to his family," she said, firmly; she didn't dare look in her father's direction, to see whether this was costing her the chance to spend the day with Gerald on Tuesday, because it didn't matter. She'd easily give that up to avoid letting him be hurt.

"Of course we can't," Lucius said smoothly, surprising Calista. "The very idea, of a prominent family like the Malfoys, reaching out blindly to what amounts, presently, to riff-raff.  _Exceptional_  riff-raff, but - nonetheless. No, that wouldn't do at all."

Calista felt her shoulders relax, and she exhaled, finally daring to lower her teacup, setting it down on the little table by her chair. Then - was she understanding this correctly? Not only did her family not outright disapprove of Gerald, but they were actually going to leave him - them - alone? It seemed too fortunate to be true.

"However," Lucius continued thoughtfully, in what Calista suspected was a well-rehearsed tone, "If, perhaps, a member of the Boot family were to reach out to  _us_  - in an effort to make an alliance that would surely benefit his or her family's standing - well, it would hardly be polite for me to refuse, when my dearest niece is so _fond_  of the family, wouldn't it?"

Calista blinked. "You… excuse me? You want me to ask Gerald's family - whom I've met only once, by the way - to write to  _you_  and ask you for a favour, which you'll grant, because - because of me?"

"You're quite right, Severus," Lucius said, flicking his gaze in her Severus's direction briefly, before looking back to Calista with a satisfied half-smile. "She  _is_  clever."

Calista opened her mouth, but for the second time, it was her father who spoke first.

"Yes, she is indeed clever; what she is  _not_ , however, Lucius - is your pawn. I believe I've made that clear on more than one occasion."

"Pawn?" Lucius echoed, and Calista saw his eyes narrow, despite his deceptively light tone, "Surely you aren't suggesting that I aim to exert any control over your daughter, Severus?"

"Not at all, Lucius," Severus said, matching the other man's tone, and expression, precisely, "So long as you aren't suggesting that, either."

Narcissa stood up, suddenly, and arched her neck, lifting her head high. "Lucius, darling. Severus. Of course no one is suggesting any such thing, stop being ridiculous,  _both_ of you. Calista, love, what your uncle is saying - very poorly, I might add - is that we approve of your friend, and his family is welcome to reach out to us if they so choose."

It might have all gone over well, if Draco hadn't spoken up, coyly; Calista had almost forgotten he was in the room, until a small, sly voice came from his chair.

"His  _wizarding_  family, of course."

"Draco, dear -" Narcissa began gently, but Lucius interrupted.

"I'm certain Calista understands that without your help, Draco."

Calista stood, now. Unknowingly, she mirrored her aunt's body language almost perfectly, straightening her back and lifting her chin.

" _I'm_ certain," she said, every bit as elegantly and coldly as anyone else in that room had ever sounded, "That I'm finished with this conversation; clearly, none of you need me present in order to have it."

"Calista, darling -" Narcissa began, and Calista paused; she slid a glance towards her father, who had risen as well. She could tell that his eyes were locked on her, but she wasn't close enough to read the expression in them.

"Oh," Calista said, calmly, and her gaze didn't shift from his, though she addressed her aunt. "Forgive me, Aunt Narcissa. Where are my manners?  _May_ I be excused from this conversation, please?"

His mouth twitched; from this distance she couldn't tell if he was hiding a smirk or a grimace. Well. That meant he was either amused, or - and it certainly seemed the likelier of the two - she was in a great deal of trouble.

"Of… of course you may, Calista."

"I think we'll return home, now," Severus said, smoothly. "Lucius, Narcissa - thank you for your impeccable hospitality, as always."

Lucius' tone was every bit as smooth. "Certainly, Severus. It's always a pleasure."

Calista didn't dare look at her father, once he was closer, until after they had donned their cloaks, and headed outside. Only when they reached the gate at the end of the front path, the point from which they would Apparate home, did she look up at him, bracing herself to be reprimanded.

Except -  _Merlin's blood._  He  _was_  smirking.

"Dad?" she asked, quietly, uncertainly "Am I in trouble?"

"I said you had to be polite and respectful, towards your aunt and uncle," Severus said, and the corner of his mouth quirked a bit further, into a crooked smile. "I never did say you had to agree with them."

She bit her lip, stopping a smile, and reached into her pocket, for her wand.

Severus's hand landed on her shoulder. "I'll Apparate you," he said, "I know you've got your license now, but -"

"Dad. You worry too much."

"No," he said, "You're safe, and you're relatively happy; that means that I worry precisely the right amount."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

On Tuesday, Calista tried on every single one of the four outfits she'd brought home for the Easter break. She decided, finally, on her favourite black trousers, and a deep sapphire blouse with sheer sleeves that Amelia had complimented more than once. She was frowning at herself in the small mirror she had put up on her bedroom wall with a Sticking Charm over the summer, wondering if she'd used too much mascara or not enough when her father's voice wafted up the stairs.

"Calista?"

She crossed the room, to the open trapdoor in the floor.

"Yes?" she called down, through it.

"You're expecting Mr. Boot at the Apparition point across the river at eleven, are you not?"

"Yes - it's not that late already, is it?"

"It's quarter of," he said, "You've been doing - whatever you're doing up there - for over an hour."

"Oh! I'm - I'll be right there."

She scrambled down the stairs, and halfway down realised she'd forgotten to put her shoes on. She ran back up, slid them on, and scrambled down again.

Severus was standing at the bottom of the second stairwell; when she appeared at the top of it, he retreated to the sitting room.

"I'll be back in forty minutes," Calista said, hopefully.

"The walk takes no more than ten minutes each way," Severus said, shrewdly. "Try again."

"Thirty-five?"

"Thirty," he said, firmly. She considered, and nodded. Then she left, at least managing to hide her grin of anticipation until she'd shut the door behind her.

Gerald was early; by the time she the small footbridge that spanned the river at this end, she could see him, standing at the mouth of the alley between two abandoned buildings that she'd given him the coordinates to; it was one of many, many small points throughout the Muggle Britain that were hidden from Muggles, and commonly used by witches and wizards to Apparate unseen.

As she drew closer, she could see he was holding bright yellow. When she got even closer, she could see it was another bouquet. Her grin returned, and she practically ran to cover the last few steps towards him.

"Calista," he held the flowers out to her, mirroring her grin. "These are for you - erm, obviously, I suppose."

She took them, glancing down at the arrangement. It was simpler than the one from Valentine's day, but every bit as pretty; besides daffodils, again, there were yellow tulips, and a scattering of daisies.

"Do these ones have a hidden message, too?" she wondered, but she was hardly listening to the answer; her eyes had moved quickly from the flowers, to  _him_. She didn't think she had actually ever seen him in Muggle clothing before. Some students actually wore their school robes all the time as they were technically supposed to, and Gerald was usually one of them.

He was dressed very neatly, in light brown trousers and a crisp light blue buttoned shirt, with a darker blue jumper over it. She wanted to put her hands against the shoulders of his sweater, perhaps even finger the edge of his collar, above the single unfastened button of his shirt - she wanted to touch the side of his face, and she wanted to kiss him; then she remembered that she had negotiated for ten extra minutes, and she slipped forward, shifting the flowers to one hand, and did just that - all of it. She felt his arms come around her when she did it, one at her lower back, and one around the middle.

"Erm," Gerald said, sheepishly, when she reluctantly retreated, "I'm sorry, but what was the question, again?"

"I don't remember either," she said, and because she could feel her cheeks growing warm, she shifted, hiding her face partly behind the flowers. Then she remembered.

"Oh. The flowers. Is there a secret meaning?"

"Oh. Actually, I'm afraid not, this time. I just thought you might like them. I hope you're not disappointed."

"Definitely not."

"I looked for something with a lot of yellow. Amelia said that was your favourite."

She nodded, with a small smile. "Yes, it is."  _And so are you_ , she thought, but she didn't want to start blushing again when they were so close to her house.

She led him across the narrow footbridge that spanned the river. "There's actually a closer spot to Apparate from," she told him, "But the bank is steeper that way - this is easier."

"You lived nearer to London before, didn't you?" he asked, curiously.

"South London, yes. Not far from Amelia. I guess not far from you, either. We had a flat, just for the summers, but the owners sold it last year, and my dad had this place already. It's strange, but I'd never been here until then, even though he's had it all along."

They crossed the river, and climbed the gentle slope up other bank, picking their way between the old railings and crossing the cobbled street to the rows of matching houses beyond.

"It's funny," Gerald mused, "I didn't live terribly far from  _here_ , when I was small."

"Really?"

"We lived in Blackburn. A bit further north, but really, not far. My mum moved us to London - after."

Calista slowed, as they entered the labyrinth of brick houses; they had made good time so far, so there was no need to hurry.

"I lived at Hogwarts, for a long time," she said, "Before I was a student, I mean. Have I told you that before?"

Gerald shook his head. "No, I didn't know. I suppose it makes sense, though, with your dad working there. He couldn't very well leave you alone at home, right?"

"Well," she said, after they had passed a building with an elderly Muggle sitting on the front stair, and were no longer in earshot of him, "That  _was_  my home. I mean, I never lived anywhere else with him, before that. I'd been at other places, before him, but none of them ever felt like anywhere that I'd call 'home'."

She felt Gerald reach for her hand, and she took it, lacing her fingers through his. For some reason, that simple connection made her feel confident enough to keep talking.

"I suppose I never told you this, either, but I was at an orphanage, for a little while. That's where my dad found me. I hadn't ever met him before then… I didn't even know I  _had_  a father, as strange as that must sound. It just... never occurred to me, I guess."

Gerald's grip on her hand tightened briefly; she glanced over at him, and his expression was solemn.

"Does that mean that… before that," he ventured, "It was just - you and…?"

"Yes."

"Calista, I'm... I'm so sorry."

She glanced away, at the row of houses on the other side of the narrow lane they walked down; her eyes slid across the flowers that she still clutched in her other hand, and that reminded her that those things - those places - that were drifting across the back of her mind… they were all in the past.

"My dad is too," she told him, looking straight ahead now, "He - he feels awful about the things that happened before he came to get me. He didn't know about me, at first - she never told him - so it's not really his fault, but… anyway, that's why he's so…"

"Protective?" Gerald suggested, gently.

"I was going to say annoying," she said, allowing herself a small smirk. "But I suppose that works, too."

"You're… very close," Gerald said, hesitantly, "Or at least, it seems like you are."

"We are now… it took a while. I was... let's just say - uncooperative - when he first met me. Oh - It's this street here," she nodded towards it, and they turned the corner. "The last house," she said, "Perhaps we should wave to my dad as we get closer - I can guarantee he's watching for us out the window."

Gerald allowed a small chuckle. "Honestly, I'd expect no less."

She reached into her pocket for the key as they drew close, but she needn't have bothered. As if Severus were proving her point, as soon as she and Gerald reached the front of the house, the door swung open.

Calista let go of Gerald's hand as they went inside. Severus greeted him more or less normally, which Calista was relieved for. Then she grinned. Gerald was looking around the walls of the sitting room, in almost precisely the same way she had, the very first time her father had brought her here.

"Wow," he said, examining a row of titles on Occlumency, "This is a fascinating collection…I know the library doesn't have  _any_ of these..."

"I know," Calista said, brightly; the relative gloom of a few moments ago had fallen away, or perhaps she'd left it at the door. "It's brilliant, isn't it? I have even more in my room, I can - oh, erm, actually, I'm probably not allowed to show you that."

She glanced sheepishly towards her father; she'd almost forgotten that having Gerald over wasn't really anything like having Amelia over, as far as her father was concerned; of course he wouldn't allow her to bring Gerald up to her bedroom…

"Three minutes," Severus said, in a tone that left precisely zero room for negotiation, "After that, if you want to look at any of your books, you'll bring them down here."

Hardly daring to believe he'd allowed even that much, Calista led Gerald up both sets of stairs, to the attic room; it was much brighter than the rest of the house. Gerald blinked, adjusting, as he climbed through the open trapdoor.

Her bed was at the far end, complete with a grey cat napping on her pillow, and her school trunk was at this end, near the door. What caught Gerald's attention, once more, were the walls. Just like downstairs, they were lined with books, though these shelves only went halfway up the walls, to where the sloped ceiling began.

One of the shelves at this end of the room, the one next to where she'd stuck the mirror up, had a few hair accessories and cosmetics scattered on it, but all of the rest were reserved for books. A few shelves had empty spaces; she saw Gerald tilting his head to read the titles of a row of rune dictionaries that had a wide gap at the end.

"The rest of those ones are at school," Calista explained, "It's always hard to decide which ones to bring."

"I have the same problem," he agreed, earnestly. "And there are  _always_  a few, every year, that I don't bring and then wish I had. It's difficult to wait until the break to go home for them. I always find myself wishing I could Apparate home from Hogwarts, just to get them."

"Well," Calista said, a bit sadly, "I suppose you won't have that problem next year."

"No," he agreed, turning away from the shelves, to look at her. "Next year, I suppose I'll be at home, wishing I could Apparate to Hogwarts…"

"I wish I was in seventh year, too," she said, quietly. As if summoned by Calista's wistful tone, Yellow stood up, arching his back and yawning.

"Well, consider this, though," Gerald said, "You have a whole year of study ahead of you still, a whole year of Charms research and… and one final chance to have a  _competent_ Defence teacher, assuming Lockhart only makes it a year, like all the rest of them."

"I can't imagine what it would be like if he's still teaching next year. I suppose we'll have all the same textbooks again, since they're 'the only defence books we'll ever need'..."

Gerald shook his head, disbelievingly. "Honestly, I can't fathom how he became a professor…"

Severus' voice floated up the stairs, warningly: "Calista."

"I guess three minutes are up," she said, rolling her eyes. "If you see anything you want to read, go on and take it down."

Yellow sauntered over then, and began winding himself through Calista's legs. "Come on," she murmured, leaning over to pick the cat up; she held him securely to her chest. "Let's go downstairs and annoy Dad - that will be fun, won't it?"

Yellow purred, as if satisfied with the plan. Calista grinned down at the cat, as Gerald removed a rune dictionary from the shelf, and they went downstairs, he holding the book and she the cat, in much the same manner.

Severus' lip curled when she released the cat into the sitting room.

"Did you have to bring that wretched beast down here?" he growled.

Calista smirked. "Are you talking about me, or Yellow?"

"Wait a minute," Gerald said, and when she looked at him, he was looking quizzically between her, and the very obviously grey cat. " _That's_  Yellow?"

Calista nodded. "Yes."

Gerald blinked. "I suppose I was always expecting something a bit more… erm, yellow."

She grinned. "Everyone says that, for some reason."

Calista selected a couple of books off one of the sitting room shelves, including a book on latin spellwork, and one on runes. She and Gerald had talked about working on their independent study projects for part of the day - though she wasn't prepared, yet, to include a legilimency book in her research materials, in front of him, in case it made him uneasy - she wondered if he  _would_  understand, or if her ability to practise the art would bother him like it had bothered Marcus.

"We can use the kitchen table," she ventured, shifting the books to her other arm, and looking over at Gerald, "If you still want to work on research, I mean…"

He nodded, eagerly. "I do. I brought some of my notes with me."

He followed her into the kitchen, and they spread the books out. Calista withdrew a few sheets of parchment and a quill from one of the kitchen drawers, while Gerald removed his wand and a tiny scroll from his pocket. He tapped his wand to the scroll; it returned to its original size, and he unrolled it, spreading it carefully flat with his hands against the surface of the wooden table.

"Oh," Gerald said, thoughtfully, shifting one of the mismatched chairs a bit closer to the one she had chosen, "I almost forgot to ask - how was your Easter? Was your family all right?"

Calista glanced up at the open kitchen doorway; she wasn't certain if her father could hear or not, but then, she supposed it didn't matter. He'd been there, the other day. He already knew everything her aunt and uncle had said.

"They were…" she sighed. "Very much themselves, I suppose. The good news - if you can call it that - is that my aunt did her usual nosy digging around, and she's decided that your family is… erm,  _respectable_  enough. I don't think she will write to them though, don't worry."

Gerald frowned, thoughtfully. "I can't imagine what she would have found to change her mind, but if it means your family won't give you a hard time, then I suppose I'm grateful for it."

He opened the borrowed book, flipping immediately to the index; Calista smiled to herself, and did the same thing with the first of the books  _she'd_  chosen.

"She said… my aunt said that your family is related to the founders of Ilvermorny. And that they were… influential, a long time ago."

Gerald looked up, brown eyes wide and disbelieving behind his glasses. "Ilvermorny? Erm - my family are British and Irish, remember? Ilvermorny's in North America."

"You did say you thought you had family there, didn't you?"

"Well, yes, I've  _heard_ that," he said, "But I don't think - no one's ever said they were Ilvermorny's  _founders_."

"Well," Calista said, "My aunt thinks you're related to them, and that made her and my uncle happy, so let's just not correct them, all right?"

Gerald chuckled. "I suppose that's logical. Still - I know it's very likely not true, but it might be interesting if it  _were_ … I might actually become interested in my family's history, if it turned out we'd founded a school."

"It did sound a bit interesting," Calista admitted, "There was something about - a curse, against the family - and a rivalry with the  _Flints_ , no less, which I can only assume must be the  _same_  Flints…"

Gerald shook his head, somewhere between disturbed and amused. "That sounds terribly uncanny. Surely almost unbelievably so."

"It does sound pretty unbelievable," she agreed, "But I suppose it's  _someone's_  family history, even if it's not yours. Aunt Narcissa had a lot of details, I don't think they could all be made up ; and I can't see a reason why she  _would_. She told me all about how the curse caused the family line to dwindle, until the last of them fled to America, and they - the two that were left, Chadwick and Webster Boot - founded Ilvermorny there. As children, no less; she said they were the first students, in addition to being the founders. One of them eventually returned here and, I guess, started the British line of the family going again. She didn't say what became of the curse."

She glanced up; Gerald's expression had changed. He looked quite serious, suddenly, and he had paused, mid-page turn; he still pinched the edge of the page between his fingers. "I'm sorry, but what were the names you said?" he asked, very quietly.

"I remember Webster for certain," she said, "According to my aunt and uncle, he was the one who came back here. The one my aunt thinks you must be descended from. The one that stayed in America was, I think, Chadwick."

"Erm. Are you  _certain_  that's what she said?"

Calista blinked, and nodded, slowly. "Fairly certain, yes - I can ask my dad if he remembers, if you want?"

"It's just," Gerald said, and he did finally drop the edge of the page, and leaned forward slightly. "Chadwick is - erm, that's my middle name. I've got a cousin called that, too. It's - my uncle says it's an old family name…"

"Seriously?"

"I… yes. Seriously. Who would lie about their middle name being  _Chadwick_? It's horrible."

"I don't think it's that bad. At least you  _have_  one."

"I still find it all very hard to believe, but perhaps it's worth researching… I wonder if there are any books at the Hogwarts library about Ilvermorny…"

"Or you could just ask my aunt, apparently," Calista muttered, "She always seems to know  _everything_  about everyone's family history."

Gerald shrugged, and shook his head, slightly; then he turned to look at her fully, mildly curious. "You don't have a middle name?"

Calista shook her head. Then something occurred to her.

"Speaking of names," she said, "I notice that everyone else at school, and your brother and your mum, they all call you Gerry. Should I be... I mean, is that what you prefer?"

"No," he said quickly, and then he flushed, just slightly. "I mean, yes, a lot of people do call me that, but I actually like… erm, I like… this sounds corny, but I really like the way you say my name."

She pressed her lips together briefly, to stop herself from grinning at how cute she thought he looked then, face slightly pink above the light blue of his collar; she glanced quickly up and down the length of him, when she thought he wasn't paying attention. She  _really_  liked the way he looked, in Muggle clothes. She thought what he was wearing that day suited him much better than the usual blue-trimmed black robes she saw him in at school.

"It's not corny," she managed, because she thought she ought to say something, "Anyway, I think - to me - 'Gerald' suits you better than 'Gerry', anyway… and besides, there's not really a short version of my name, so if you've got to say the whole thing, then I guess I should too."

Gerald tilted his head. "Callie?" he tried, and they both shook their heads, quickly; Calista wrinkled her nose in distaste.

"No," she said, "Definitely not. I suppose I'm just never going to have a nickname." She hoped he never found out about  _Snapelet_  - she'd always hated that one.

"Well," Gerald said, a bit uncertainly, "It's… it's not a nickname  _precisely_ , but…I do have… erm, a rune that I draw, sometimes, when - when I'm thinking about you."

"I, erm -" Calista felt a blush threatening, but a glance towards the open doorway helped her control it. She ducked her head slightly, and leaned a bit closer to Gerald.

"I have that too," she murmured, "Not just one rune, though. I… I draw a lot of different ones, for 'owl'... ever since the note you left, on the card for the daffodils..."

Gerald smiled, a bit shyly. "I've had mine a good bit longer than that," he admitted. He leaned closer, too, so their foreheads were almost touching, and reached for the corner of the parchment sheet that she had on the table. "May I?"

She nodded, feeling her heart speed up in a way that was not at all unpleasant. Part of it was the anticipation of whatever the rune was, and part of it was just being close to him.

He sketched out a rune shape - it was very close to one that she knew, but not exactly the same… but then, he was drawing it from a funny angle, too.

" _Colubrus_?" she asked, wrinkling her nose, "Erm. Hummingbird?"

"Not precisely," he said, and he pointed to a delicate loop near the top of the rune that she thought should have been more like a triangle. "This is  _Colibri_ , the version seen in some French runic writings - but yes, the meaning is the same..."

"My Patronus is a cat, though. Not a hummingbird."

"Yes, well," Gerald said, ducking his own head a bit, "I did say I've had this longer than that. I didn't know what your Patronus would be. And hummingbirds are… well, they're small, and beautiful, and they fly quickly away when you get too close…"

Calista blinked, and retreated slightly; uncertain how to feel about that.

"Exactly," he murmured, quietly. "More than that, though, symbolically they represent courage, and resilience. In short… they look delicate, but they're… well, they're pretty fierce survivors. I can't - I really can't think of anyone that sounds like more than you."

Calista felt something familiar, beneath the light flutter of her heart - the flickering warmth she'd been feeling, more and more, when she was with Gerald, or sometimes only when she thought of him. It was blooming again, filling her with something that she couldn't quite name, but that made her smile softly and forget her words.

"Oh," she managed, intelligently; Gerald leaned over a little further, and placed a soft, light kiss at her cheekbone. She turned her head, and then he was kissing her mouth, and she leaned into it, kissing him back; and although it was sweet, and light, and there was nothing in it that was different from any of the other dozens of kisses they'd shared by now, something still  _felt_  different, to her. For a minute, she didn't feel like Calista Snape, sneaking a kiss in her father's kitchen - she  _felt_  like a hummingbird, light and pure and practically vibrating with joy -

There was a sound, suddenly, from the next room. Calista leapt back, even though they weren't technically doing anything that wasn't allowed; she lowered her gaze quickly to the book that was open in front of her on the table, trying to force herself to concentrate on the pages of Latin words, so that her cheeks would cool. She thought Gerald would do the same, would try to look as though he'd been studying, but when she chanced a glance at him, and he was simply watching her.

It reminded her, some, of the way he'd looked at her often enough in the past, when they had first become friendly; like she was a puzzle he was piecing together in his mind… but there was something else, too, something that  _looked_  the way the warm feeling in her ribcage  _felt_. She took a steadying breath, just as her father's footsteps approached the kitchen doorway.

"Mr. Boot," Severus said, appearing in the doorway; Gerald's expression cleared, going carefully blank, in the instant before he turned his head. Calista hoped she had managed to do the same.

Severus was holding book bound in brown leather; he extended his arm, holding it out towards Gerald. "I overheard some of your conversation, a few moments ago," he said, "And I thought perhaps you would find this… interesting."

"Oh - yes. Thank you, Professor."

Calista felt a moment of panic;  _what_  had her father overheard? If it was anything embarrassing…

She craned her neck, peering at the cover of the book over Gerald's shoulder:  _Ilvermorny, A History._  She relaxed.

Severus glanced at the table, at the two open books, and at Calista's sheet of parchment, empty save for Gerald's hummingbird rune, sketched in the corner.

"It doesn't look as though you've gotten much... ah,  _research_  done," he said, shrewdly.

Calista felt a threatening warmth in her cheeks.

"Oh, actually, I have," Gerald said.

Calista glanced at him, remembering that he had brought a whole sheet of parchment filled with his notes; she expected to see him gesturing to it, pointing it out to her father, but instead, he was looking directly at her, and a playful, sly sort of smile was spreading across his face.

"I think I've made some progress," he continued, and Calista had the distinct impression that he wasn't answering her father's question at all, but was speaking directly to her; she felt her cheeks grow warmer, especially since Gerald looked so damn  _cute_  at the moment, "On my -  _ongoing_ research project."

Calista's mind flashed back to their conversation the week before Easter, and she had to bite her lip to keep from returning his grin with one of her own.

"Well," she said, managing an even tone; she locked her eyes on him as well, "I have been helping."

"That's - ah, very true," Gerald agreed.

Severus made a noise in his throat. "I  _see_ ," he said, and Calista glanced up at him; somehow, she'd almost forgotten he was there, still standing by the kitchen door.

"It's - erm - an Armour Charm," she volunteered, quickly. "Like a Shield Charm, but - different."

"Oh, I don't think that's what's being worked on here," Severus said, silkily, "Although I don't doubt that Mr. Boot is practising  _some_  manner of charm…"

Calista sucked in a breath. " _Dad,_ " she managed, gritting her teeth.

Gerald ducked his head slightly, appearing mildly sheepish but otherwise unconcerned. "I suppose that's… fair," he murmured.

The noise came from Severus' throat again. "Yes, well," he said, after a moment of intensely uncomfortable - for Calista anyway - silence. "If either of you need any other  books, don't hesitate to say so. After all, I'll be right in the  _next room_."

Gerald nodded, still remarkably calm. "Thank you, sir, I'll keep that in mind."

Severus nodded tightly, and returned to the sitting room; after a moment, Calista quirked a small smile in Gerald's direction.

"I'm not sure what makes me happier," she said, quietly, "The fact that he actually likes you, or the fact that you're not afraid of him."

"Well, to be fair," Gerald admitted, "The former point certainly makes the latter easier."

"You know," Calista said thoughtfully, "I wouldn't be at all surprised if the reverse were true as well."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

As the weather gradually turned warmer, and the days very gradually became longer, the looming threat of exams grew steadily more solid, particularly for Gerald, who was preparing to sit his N.E.W.T. exams, and who Calista knew had applied to several post-graduate internships, all of which could be won or lost depending on how well he did.

The testing schedules for extracurricular certification exams had come out, too, and both she and Gerald were to sit the Poisons and Antidotes exam only three days before their regular exams were due to begin. Gerald was signed up for the Advanced Magical Theory exam that same week as well, but Professor Flitwick had advised Calista to take advantage of another year of study with him before sitting that one herself.

Although Calista and Gerald still spent as much time together as they could, more and more frequently that time was spent in companionable silence, both of them bent over their textbooks, or scrawling notes endlessly - or, rather, Calista scrawled. Gerald's handwriting was very neat, whether he was labelling star charts, or composing sweet little notes in French and slipping them into Calista's textbooks.

That was - though of course she pretended to find it terribly corny - perhaps Calista's favourite part of studying, lately. One minute, she'd be voraciously consuming the references list in the back of a textbook, scrawling notations as fast as her quill would move, and then the next minute, she'd turn a page and a small square of parchment would be there, pressed between the page she'd turned and the next, and her quill would come to a stop, rhythmic scratching replaced by a sweet, stunned silence.

Sometimes, she could understand the gist of the notes right away, particularly if the words had Latin roots, or if they contained words he'd used before, in previous notes, or in any of the things he'd said to her in French before, that she'd already looked up, but sometimes she had to wait until she had time to search for the words in the French dictionary she'd permanently borrowed from her father.

Gerald would almost never translate the notes when she asked, would only either smile or blush, or both - but then, he seemed to understand that part of it, part of the fun and part of what made it so endearing was the challenge.

The course of her relationship so far with Gerald was completely unlike the way things had gone with Marcus. It was progressing at once much faster and much more slowly than her first relationship had done; physically, they were stalled at hand-holding, and quick, sweet hugs, and soft, somewhat chaste, and often uncertain kisses - and even though these things occurred, as time went on, with increasing frequency, there was no push from either of them to shift into any other territory.

And yet… as hesitant and undemanding as the physical nature of their relationship was, it was the emotional component that had swept her along much more quickly than she expected. She felt personally invested in all the things that troubled him, understood in her core the anxiety and the ache of dread that he felt whenever another letter came in the heavy, spiky hand that she had come to recognise as belonging to Gerald's father; she felt the tremor in her own fingers when he set his quill to the parchment, reluctantly penning a neutral response so that his father would hold up his end of the bargain the two had made, slightly over a year ago; as long as Gerald answered the letters, his father would not try to write to Terry.

The emotional investment, however, went both ways, and that was the part that surprised Calista the most. Although there were a great many things that she could not open up to him about, couldn't possibly explain or admit to, she found that there were also a great many things that she  _could_  tell him; about some of the things she'd witnessed her mother do, about her time in the orphanage, when she'd been simultaneously relieved to be free of her mother and terrified that she'd show up and snatch her back… even, obliquely, about some of the nightmares that kept her awake on the nights when she most desperately needed to sleep.

There wasn't always something he could say that would ease the pain, or the fear; but sometimes, the fact that he knew the things she told him and didn't seem to think any less, or any differently, of her - sometimes, that was just as comforting as the gentle squeeze of his hand on her shoulder, or the firm lacing of his fingers through hers.

Gerald confided in her, too; more often on the days after he'd received a letter from his father, as if he needed to tell someone the reason he dreaded writing back; he told her about being grabbed roughly, fingers digging into the hollows between his bones and leaving bruises he had to lie about or hide, because his father had threatened to hurt his mother or his baby brother if he didn't, and about his father's habit of pressing the tip of his wand between his son's ribs, where the light from his spells wouldn't be seen, and where the jolt of whatever hex he'd cast would be felt sharply, acutely - and he'd admitted to being jolted awake, sometimes, when those things replayed themselves in his dreams.

It was difficult, at first, to adjust to this dynamic of sharing - not only because Calista didn't usually like to verbalise her own ghosts, but also because her and Gerald's coping mechanisms were at odds; after opening up to him, her instinct was to retreat, to use silence or a hollow joke to put an artificial distance between them. Gerald, on the other hand, seemed to crave closeness when he felt vulnerable, or when he sensed that she did; and although it was difficult, she tried her best to offer what he needed, during those times - to reach out, and touch him lightly, to hold him or to offer words of encouragement. In return, he tried to understand her tendency to withdraw, tried his best to be supportive without forcing affection that she wasn't prepared to accept.

The strange thing about all of it, to Calista, was that she had once feared, at the beginning of all of this, that her friendship with Gerald would change - and it  _had_  been changing, these past few months, but as it turned out, that was nothing to fear. Their friendship wasn't shifting or shrinking away to accommodate their romance; instead, it seemed to be growing, to encompass it.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Unlike the last time she'd begun a relationship, being with Gerald also didn't demand that she withdraw from her other friendships; if anything, she spent even  _more_  time with Amelia and Penny, since her visits to both the Ravenclaw common room and the Ravenclaw table in the Great Hall increased; and because Percy was always keen to spend time with Penny, she saw more of him, too.

It was because of this - her increased time with her friends - that she realised that something was weighing heavily on Percy, in the weeks following the Easter break. Penny noticed it too, and it was she who finally coaxed it out of him; he confided to them that he was growing increasingly concerned for his younger sister, Ginny, a first-year who, he said, was withdrawn and anxious, and wouldn't tell him, or anyone else  _why_.

"It's not like her," he'd said, quietly, while he met Penny's gaze over the top of their chess pieces; they were playing a game in the library, while Gerald pored over his Magical Theory notes, and Amelia and Calista worked on the Arithmancy homework that the rest of them had already finished.

"She's always been very - erm, outgoing. And now she's walking 'round like someone's just told her she failed all of her exams. I even caught her coming out of the girls' room one day looking like she'd been crying. Her face was all blotchy, and her eyes were red - and I asked her what was wrong, but she just howled at me and ran away."

"Erm, well," Penny said, delicately, as she shifted her rook's position on the board, neatly capturing one of Percy's pawns, "Perhaps try asking her when she hasn't just come out of the loo?"

"Well, I  _have_ , obviously," Percy said, flushing slightly, "But it's just the same. She yells at me to mind my own business, or runs away. I've half a mind to write home to our parents, but I'm afraid that might only make things worse."

"What about any of your brothers?" Amelia asked, "You've got - what - thirty-five? Forty? Do any of  _them_  know what's wrong with her?"

"I have five," Percy said, rather testily, "And they're of no use whatsoever. Bill and Charlie won't even return my letters half the time, and the  _rest_  of them - Fred and George and Ron - would rather discuss  _nose-biting teacups_  than the welfare of our younger sister."

"Maybe it's something she only feels comfortable talking to another girl about," Calista ventured; she was thinking of Daisy Spratt, who more often than not would come to Calista over her older brother, when she was upset, even though the siblings were fairly close.

"Do you think I  _should_  write to Mum, then?" Percy asked, anxiously.

"Well, I'm not really the best person to ask that particular question of, am I?" Calista muttered; before the words were even out of her mouth, she felt the warmth of Gerald's hand, settling over her own; she glanced up at him, and nodded, answering the unspoken question in his eyes:  _Yes, I'm fine_.

"I think perhaps it's a good -" Penny started, but Amelia interrupted, rolling her eyes.

"Don't write to your mum, you prat; what if she's upset because she's done something wrong, and you end up getting her in trouble?"

"Well, if she  _has_  done something wrong, the best thing, naturally, would be to come clean," Percy began, but Amelia made a rude noise, and interrupted him, too.

"You  _would_  say that. Well, what if it's not that, then? What if it's about a boy, or something?"

"Ginny's only eleven," Percy fussed, "It had  _better_  not be, or this  _boy_  will be in detention until exams start."

"Erm, Percy?" Calista said, with an attempt at delicacy, "Please don't take this the wrong way, but you sound like my dad."

Amelia and Penny both chuckled; when Calista glanced at Gerald again, he looked like he was trying very hard not to.

"Well, I'm very sorry I've troubled all of you with my problems," Percy said, testily, "Clearly you'd all rather make jokes than try and  _help_ …"

"But Percy," Penny said earnestly, "We  _are_  trying to help. It's just - well, none of us have any siblings, so we're not really sure what the best advice is."

Percy frowned, and then he turned his head, hopefully. "Gerry,  _you_  have a younger sibling. What do you recommend?"

Gerald looked up, and considered. "Well, I suppose that depends. Do you think that whatever is bothering your sister is potentially dangerous?"

"Well, I can't really see how it  _could_  be," Percy said, "She's eleven."

Gerald blinked. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well, how much danger could an eleven year old really be in?"

Gerald raised a brow. "Wasn't your brother involved in all of the _danger_ , at the end of last year? Weren't you telling us all how he was the one that won McGonagall's enchanted chess game, at great personal risk?"

Percy paled. "I hadn't thought of that…"

"Look," Gerald said, in a gentler tone, "If you think your sister may be in danger, then you're asking the wrong people for advice; you  _should_  speak to your parents, or perhaps a trusted professor… but if it's something else - trouble with her classmates perhaps, or even with - erm, a boy - then the best thing you can do is let her know you're prepared to support her, and encourage she speak with  _someone_  that she trusts… but, Percy, you can't really force her to talk to you, if she doesn't want to."

"Well - is that what you do, when something's bothering Terry?"

"Sure," Gerald said, "And then he calls me a nagging swot and tells me to sod off - but you know, I do think he realises I'm there for him, if he ever needs me."

It was Percy's turn to blink, now. "Are you certain he and Ginny aren't friends?" he asked, "That's almost precisely what she said to me yesterday."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

With the Poisons and Antidotes exam only weeks away, Calista and Gerald were trying to work their way through the last of the list of potions that Severus had supplied them as having been on the exam in prior years. Since Calista was still excused from her Occlumency lessons on the days of Quidditch matches, and since neither she or Gerald felt particularly inclined to watch the match, they had elected to spend the Saturday of the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match in the Potions classroom, practising.

They had considered going to the library to work on their independent research, or to research the Chamber, instead, but lately, the exams seemed like the most looming and tangible threat, and so they unpacked their potions ingredients in the dim classroom, side-by-side, while what seemed like the rest of the school streamed outside, clad in either scarlet or yellow.

"I do feel a bit guilty," Gerald admitted, as he measured out a scoop of powdered unicorn horn for his antidote, "After all, I'm the Head Boy - I  _am_  supposed to show support for school functions, and all of that…"

"Well, then, so am I, as a Prefect," Calista pointed out, reasonably, "But watching a Quidditch match won't help us with our exam scores. Knowing how to produce a Disembowling Draught and its antidote might."

"Yes, I suppose you're right. You know, I think I'm more nervous about this exam than some of my N.E.W.T. exams. it's strange, but at least I've  _sat_  the other subjects before, for my O.W.L.s, and I know what to expect."

"I'm sure it will be similar to the Potions exam," she reassured him, "Just more focused. And I know you earned an Outstanding in Potions, or my father wouldn't have let you into the N.E.W.T. class."

"I hope you're right," he said, carefully scraping the excess powder back into his jar, and sealing it tightly. "I just hate not knowing what to expect…"

There was a sudden rattling bang at the door of the Potions classroom, that made both of them start. Fine silvery powder floated down to the floor, as Gerald nearly dropped the scoop of powdered horn he held; as it was, nearly half of it was wasted.

"Dad," Calista managed, as Severus strode into the classroom, looking positively deranged. "What - what the hell are you  _doing_?"

"You're all right," Severus managed, staring at her as if surprised to see her there, in precisely the place she'd told him she would be.

"Of course I am," she said, uncertainly, "Why wouldn't I be?"

She peered at him, taking in his expression - and she knew, then, that something was wrong. Something was very,  _very_  wrong.

"Dad?" she pressed, "Why wouldn't I be fine?  _What's happened_?"

Beside her, Gerald had recovered, and set the remaining unicorn horn on the table; he, too, was eyeing the professor with concern.

"There has been," Severus said, heavily, "Another attack."

Calista gasped, and Gerald straightened, looking suddenly grim.

"It was a double attack," Severus said, and his eyes were bleak. "Calista - I'm sorry. One of the victims - I'm afraid… your friend, Miss Clearwater…"

" _Penny_?  _Penny's_  been attacked?"

Calista felt like she'd been hit with a blasting curse, or punched in the gut - her head swam, and all the blood drained from her face - or rushed to it, she couldn't tell which -

"She's only Petrified," Severus was saying, but it was like he was talking from a far way off, or from the bottom of a lake. "Like the rest. As soon as the Mandrake Draught is complete…"

The rest of what he was saying faded away - or no, the rushing in her ears had risen to a high enough volume to block it out - and she felt like she might faint, or possibly throw up, and  _how_  had her face become wet -?

And then, someone was holding on to her, and it was the only thing that allowed her to focus, dimly, on the rapidly blurring dingy grey stone of the dungeon floor, and on the fact that breathing was something she now had to consciously force herself to do.

"She's in the hospital wing, Calista, being looked after right this very minute," Severus' voice was audible again, as the roaring in her ears dimmed slightly; the arm wrapped around her shoulders was helping to steady her. But he still sounded far away; several paces, at least, and how could that be when he was holding her?

Except, he wasn't; the person that was comforting her, that had now pulled her close, and was rubbing her back in slow, gentle circles that somehow made it easier to pull air in and out of her lungs - that person was Gerald.

"She'll be all right," he said, quietly, but it came out more like a question than anything else; she managed to look at him, and he was drawn and pale with anxiety; she remembered, frantically, that Penny was  _his_  friend, too, and his housemate…

She lifted her arms, even though they felt, like every part of her body did just then, like they were leaden; she slipped them around him, returning his comforting embrace as well as she could.

Severus cleared his throat; she expected him to growl, or snarl, or even suggest that Gerald leave, and she prepared to argue with him, even though she didn't think, in that moment, that she had the strength - except, she didn't need to. When Severus spoke again, his voice was soft, and unthreatening.

"When you're ready," he said, heavily, "I'll escort you to see her - both of you."


	17. Chapter 17

Calista and Gerald trailed a few steps behind Severus, numbly tracing the path to the hospital wing. Calista felt as if she'd become a House Ghost herself; she was faintly surprised when she looked down and realised that her feet were indeed touching the stone floor with each step, despite the fact that she couldn't feel it.

There were only two things she was aware of feeling, during the interminable walk: the pressure on her lungs that made her feel as if a hippogriff was sitting on them, and Gerald's fingers laced tightly through hers. Everything else faded away, until they arrived in the corridor, and Severus swung the door open. Then, she felt one more thing: the hard, heavy pounding of her heart. She had never seen any of the victims close up; she didn't know what to expect.

Professor McGonagall was heading down the corridor, with two boys in Gryffindor robes, when they arrived. They were walking mechanically in the opposite direction, perhaps as if they were just leaving the hospital wing; Calista recognised, dimly, that she knew who the boys were — Percy's younger brother, Ron, and Harry Potter.

"Dad," Calista said, softly, from just outside the door, before she went in. "You said it was a double attack. Who… who else?"

"A second-year," he said, over his shoulder, "Hermione Granger."

Calista blinked. "I know her too," she said, not quite sure why she was saying it, "She's in the library a lot. I recommended some runes books for her… I think… she seemed… I liked her."

"I see."

Severus held the door open for them, and nodded; it seemed he would wait in the corridor. Gerald let go of her hand, and for a second, she wished he hadn't; then she felt the light, steadying pressure of it against her back and she thought that was even better. Together, they approached the bed where Penny lay, stiff and unmoving, long curly hair spread wildly over her pillow.

Gerald choked on a gasp; he started to tremble. Calista could feel it first, in his fingers on her back, and then she could see it when she turned her head to look at him.

"It's — it's like she's... " Gerald swallowed audibly. "It's like she's dead," he whispered, face going pale.

Calista forced herself to look, at the form of her friend laid out in the bed; she  _was_  stiff, and unmoving, but even from here, Calista could feel the warmth of life radiating from her. Her eyes were open, wide and dark and presumably unseeing.

"No," Calista said quietly, without realising she was going to; she slipped one arm around the middle of Gerald's back, realising that he needed the comfort of contact just as much as she did; perhaps even more. Her other hand reached out, hesitantly, and touched the back of Penny's hand. Warm. Just as she'd thought.

"It's… actually not like that," she continued, in the same quiet tone. "She's warm, and her eyes are — different. Her skin, too. I don't know if I can explain it. There's… when someone's dead, the colour… it changes. The cheeks — go hollow, too. I don't know why."

Gerald swallowed, and his free hand reached out to nearly the same spot Calista's had done. He tapped, tentatively, at Penny's wrist, and then pressed his fingertip to it a moment. He nodded, exhaling, and withdrew his hand. "She — she is warm," he confirmed, sounding slightly relieved. "I hadn't thought of that…"

Calista felt his head turn, knew that he was looking at her, but she kept her eyes trained on Penny, because she had a feeling she knew what he was going to say, next…

"You've… seen someone before, who was… ?"

She felt herself stiffen, and she braced herself for him to recoil, to yank his hand off her back, maybe even sidestep so that her arm would drop from around him. She told herself it was fine if he did; this was for him, anyway.  _She_  would be fine, without the comfort of touch — she had been, for a very long time, after all.

"Yes," she said, hearing her voice become hard and angular. It even  _felt_  sharp, in her throat. "I've seen them when they were that way, and I've seen them — become that way."

 _Sometimes there's blood. Sometimes there's not. It depends on which curse she used._  She shivered, despite herself, and despite the fact that the room was quite warm.

There was a quiet rustling of clothes, and a sudden chill on her back, as his hand moved.  _There,_ she thought, almost savagely, to herself,  _I told you so._

"But — " Gerald started, and he shook his head. She refused to look at him, didn't want to see his eyes go as blank, as uncaring, as Penny's looked, just now. Or, perhaps, they  _weren't_  blank. Perhaps they were filled with horror, or revulsion, or any of the things she was suddenly reminded that she probably deserved, simply for being who she was.

"But she — that — was so long ago. You were so  _young_ ," he finally said, and she could hear the horror in his voice, now. It wasn't until she felt the warmth of his arm settling around her shoulders, his fingers gripping her upper arm, that she realised it wasn't directed  _at_  her, but _for_ her. "How could she —  _why_  would she make you see…?"

 _Why, indeed?_  Calista felt herself tremble; she was seeing things  _now_ , one after the other, in rapid, horrifying succession, streaming through her mind, in front of her eyes and for an instant, she couldn't even see Penny.

_\- Glassy blue eyes, hollow cheeks — slit throats and bubbling blood and fingers curved eternally, reaching for help that would never arrive -_

_No._  She was stronger than this. She forced it all down, away, behind one barrier and another, into a shadowed corner of her mind. Penny faded back into her vision, and suddenly, Calista thought she  _did_  look dead. She sucked in a breath of air, shrugging her shoulders hard to throw Gerald's arm off; she felt her own arm snake back towards herself, releasing him, and it wasn't even something she planned to do, something she  _wanted_  to do — it was the old instinct, the one that had never led her wrong, telling her to retreat, to run, to hide.

"I don't know," she managed, and the echo of her voice, suddenly too loud, was hollow as it came back to her, reflected off the bare stone walls, "Don't ask  _me_  that fucking question…ask  _her_..."

He might have called after her; he might even have reached for her, in vain — she didn't know. Penny and Hermione could have leapt up, miraculously awakened from their cursed state and chased after her, for all she could see, as she raced blindly for the door.

"I can't do this," she managed reaching for the door handle and pulling it open.

She didn't think, in that moment, that she was only talking about visiting Penny. She thought she might have meant all of it: that dim room, Gerald's presence, his arm around her offering comfort she wasn't certain she deserved.

She had forgotten that her father was outside, in the corridor, until she nearly ran into him; and then, like he always did, he knew that she was not all right.

"Calista," he said, and his arm, too, reached for her — fingers brushing her arm, and then sliding away as she threw him, too, off. Perhaps she couldn't do  _that_  anymore, either; perhaps  _he_  was one of the many things she had now that, in light of the monstrosities she'd been a party to, she had no right to claim.

She tried to continue, to leave him behind along with the dim, claustrophobic hospital wing — with Penny and with Gerald — but his fingers caught at her again, and this time they held, gripping her shoulder firmly.

"Calista," he said again, wheeling her around to face him. His eyes bored into hers, heavy and intense, and she could feel him probing —

 _No_. Inside, her thoughts swirled and eddied, slipping in and out of their dark corner like errant ghouls; but outside, at the edges… she had the walls of a fortress. She  _was_  a fortress.

"What have I done?" Severus asked so quietly that she wondered if she had misheard him. "I —"

He said something else, but he said it in a voice so near to silence that it was lost in the rustling of his robes, and the rushing in her ears, as he pulled her close, despite that fact that she didn't think she wanted him to, that she was making a half-hearted attempt to slip away, again.

And,  _then_. Then, her face was pressed into his shoulder, and his arms held her close, despite her resistance and despite her trembling, and something inside her shifted and fell away.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, by her ear, "I didn't realise that seeing her would affect you like this."

It took a moment for her brain to translate, to make sense of the words; because, at first, she had heard him murmuring something completely different.

_You're safe. I won't let her hurt you again._

She stopped trying to run away; she stopped resisting. She simply stood there, and let him hold her, soaking the shoulder of his robes with tears that burned her eyes even when they were shut tight; she stopped, and she stayed, until the ghosts kept to their darkened corner, and until the very worst thing on her mind was the fact that she was seventeen years old, and crying on her father's shoulder in a public corridor.

When she could, she lifted her face; Severus let his arms fall away, and his eyes searched her face again.

"Miss Clearwater will be all right," he said again, quietly, "They all will, once the mandrake draught is completed. The more pressing concern, at the moment, is preventing further attacks. I understand you and Mr. Boot were researching the Chamber; I must ask if you were able to uncover anything at all that might help unmask the culprit."

"You know I would have told you if we did," she said, quietly; she felt an odd sense of relief to have something to say that didn't directly relate to the horrors she'd just revisited in her mind, or the new horror of her friend lying in the hospital wing as stiff and unfeeling as a statue."We had ideas, but nothing really fit perfectly… I'll give you all of our notes, of course. Maybe you'll see something we didn't."

Severus nodded, grimly. "Yes, I think it's best if I look through them, at this juncture. In the meantime, you will continue to help me with the potion. We'll complete all but the last step — that way, when the mandrakes have matured, we can complete the brew within a day or two at most. And in the immediate future… I need to address the students in my House. We'll return to the common room together; no one will be walking the corridors unaccompanied, anymore."

"What about… what about Gerald?"

"Mr. Boot exited the hospital wing, ah — shortly after you did. I believe he returned to Ravenclaw Tower, to check in on the other students."

Calista felt herself shrink with dread. She hadn't heard him in the corridor; but then, she hadn't really heard much of anything besides the rushing in her ears and her own choked, gasping breaths.

"Did he — did he see me…?"  _Crying?_

"Unless he suddenly went blind upon stepping into the corridor, then I would have to contend that, yes, he did."

"Brilliant. Now on top of all the  _other_ horrible things I'm sure he'll think of me, he can think I'm a weak, snivelling baby, too."

"I very much doubt that Mr. Boot thinks that, or any other horrible thing, about you."

"Yes, well," she said, darkly, "You're not  _always_  right, you know."

"Name one time I've been wrong."

She tried to reflect, but she was tired; her mind didn't want to cooperate. Instead, she just kept thinking of what she'd told Gerald, of the way his horror was certain to shift to include her, once he really had time to think about it; or maybe it wouldn't be horror — maybe it would be outright pity. She thought that might be even worse.

"This time," she said, quietly, shaking her head; but she could only push the thoughts away, hide them for later — she couldn't abolish them. "You're wrong this time."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

That day — the day Penny was attacked — had been a string of rapid, unbelievable events. Severus had addressed the Slytherins, warning them that the school was in very real danger of being shut down if the attacks continued, and reminding them to come to him if they heard anything that might be useful.

He had also outlined a stark new set of rules: no students were to travel the corridors alone, for any reasons; the professors would walk the younger students between classes as a group; for the older students, who didn't all have the same classes at the same time, they could travel in small groups as long as a Prefect was with them.

He had sounded particularly grim when relayed this part, and Calista thought she knew why: he didn't want  _her_  to do it, to guide even the older students between classes, without his protection — but those were the procedures that the Headmaster had outlined. Moreover, she had made it quite clear what she'd thought of his idea to take her off patrol routes, once; now that one of her friends actually  _had_  been attacked, she was even more adamant that she continue to uphold her responsibilities.

There were to be patrols at all hours of the day and night, and the teachers and staff would take rotations, as well; some of the existing patrols were rearranged to accommodate this. When he'd received word that Prefects were to extend their evening patrols until midnight, Severus assigned  _himself_  to Calista's Saturday night patrol of the dungeon corridors, though at least she still had Endria on the afternoon route, presumably because he taught a class at that hour.

"Are you putting yourself on my library patrols, too?" she'd asked him, "Or are you just switching mine to something else?" Ordinarily, she'd have been furious at the very idea; but when she thought of facing Gerald, after what had happened earlier that day, she decided not to argue.

"No," Severus had said, surprising her into a stunned silence, "You and Mr. Boot will stay on those patrols, I think — though I will be on my own route each evening, and I will want to check in with you several times throughout each patrol."

That in itself has been surprising enough; and then came several nasty surprises, as the day wore on.

Her Uncle Lucius had visited the castle, evidently, though she hadn't actually seen him. The rumours, which had been confirmed by her father and by her cousin, were that he had come with a decree from the rest of the school governors, ordering Albus Dumbledore's removal as Headmaster. Draco was swaggering around the Slytherin common room as if  _he_  had been appointed Headmaster in his stead; Calista was too numb, and too exhausted to address it.

That the Headmaster had left, in the night, and Professor McGonagall was serving temporarily in his place, had only further illustrated the truth of the rumours. Some of the Slytherins had openly cheered to hear that Dumbledore had been removed; Calista only wondered silently what would become of her memory, locked away in the Headmaster's office; would it stay there, possibly forgotten, or would Severus take it for safekeeping? She didn't want to ask, somehow.

Hagrid, the Gamekeeper, was taken away in the middle of the night as well —more rumours flew that he had been the culprit behind the attacks. Calista didn't think it sounded particularly plausible, but… if it  _were_  true, that would mean that the attacks would stop. She hoped it was true, if only for that reason.

Severus had wanted her to sleep in his quarters, at the conclusion of their patrol, and she had been too exhausted, in every possible sense, to argue. Still, if she'd hoped sleep would bring a respite, she was married to a false hope; she'd tossed fitfully, trying again and again to return her memories — of Penny, lying still and stiff in the Hospital Wing, of the horror she'd heard in Gerald's voice, of the things she'd seen that had caused it — to their dark corners.

She didn't know if she wanted to visit Penny again, like that; she didn't know if she wanted to see Gerald, or if she wanted to avoid him instead; she didn't know if she was angry that her father had inserted himself, in some capacity, into all of her evening patrols; she didn't know much of anything.

There was only one certainty: that the day had been the absolute worst she'd ever had at Hogwarts.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Severus paced from one cauldron to the other, peering at the contents of each, and either nodding stiff approval, or offering snarled criticism. There were only six cauldrons; only six anxious, strained-looking students with heads bent over them, frantically measuring or stirring.

If his seventh-year N.E.W.T. students were anxious and strained, it was nothing to how Severus felt — and that was why he continued to pace, continued to barb.

He hadn't had a proper night's sleep in days, because  _Calista_ hadn't. He couldn't feel it, anymore, not even with her in the room next to his; her Occlumency skills had long been sufficient to prevent that… but still, he  _knew_. He knew because he knew  _her_ , and because he had to sit across from her every morning at the table, and register her shadowed eyes and frequent yawns.

He glanced up at the clock on the wall; he could feel most of the students doing it, too. Five minutes to go. He wasn't sure if himself or the students were more anxious for it to end. At least he didn't have to walk these students to their next class; there were two Prefects besides Boot and Folland.

He stalked away from the work area, as they began bottling their potions. He started straightening books on one of the shelves that were already perfectly in order, just to have something to do with his hands. As soon as he turned his back, the whispers started; he remembered the  _other_  reason he'd been pacing; to avoid having his students discuss the very thing he knew they would, the second he left them to their own devices.

"All I'm saying is," he overheard the class's lone Gryffindor mutter under his breath, as he turned back towards the students; the boy, Owens, didn't seem to have noticed. "We've all been hit now, except for Slytherin. Folks in  _my_  House are saying — it's pretty obvious where the attacks are coming from. Chuck out all the Slytherins —"

Miss Folland's hackles rose visibly; but it was Boot, to Severus' surprise, that spoke, fists clenching at his sides, leaning over his and Owens's now-empty cauldrons with a very intense look.

"You take that back," he said, very quietly; his voice was shaking. Severus noticed that his wand was gripped in his hand, though he did seem to be trying to refrain from actually pointing it at his classmate. "This is  _not_  coming from Slytherin…"

Owens chuckled, not at all threatened by Boot; after all, he was easily a head taller, and broad enough to make Boot look positively scrawny in comparison. "Right," he said, glancing towards the professor; Severus glared back, but because the boy was a bloody  _Gryffindor_ , he pushed on recklessly. "I forgot, you're getting your rocks off with one of them."

Severus snarled, stepping towards them.

"I'm sure it's not  _your_  girlfriend carrying out the attacks, Boot," Owens continued, in a tone that very much implied the opposite.

Severus opened his mouth, but before he could decide whether to take fifty points or a hundred — no, with the implication that his daughter was not only involved in the attacks, but was  _having sex_ , he'd make it  _two hundred_ … after all, if Dumbledore could  _give_  Gryffindor that many in one go why the bloody hell shouldn't he be able to dock them? — in the time it took him to think all of that, Boot  _had_  raised his wand, and was leaning over his cauldron, pointing it firmly at Owens.

"Don't you  _dare_  imply that about her! She would  _never_  — you have  _no idea_  — take it back, Owens!"

"Enough," Severus hissed, just as the bell sounded; Owens hurriedly began stuffing his things into his schoolbag, no doubt eager to get away without a penalty; Boot's wand remained levelled at the other boy.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor," he snarled, "And you'll be disemboweling toads for a month, Owens."

"That's not fair!" the boy howled, "Professor Dumbledore —"

" _Isn't here_ ," Severus growled, " _I_ am. Now, get out of my sight before I make it a hundred — Boot, you have a detention, too, when your classes are finished today."

"You can't do that! I'm going to McGonagall, then —" Owens was still protesting; Boot had finally lowered his wand, looking a bit stunned.

" _Get out!_  All of you!"

Most of the students hurried to oblige, though Owens was looking positively murderous; Boot started gathering his things, piling his books in an uncharacteristically haphazard manner; Severus noticed that his hands were shaking.

"Professor, I don't understand why — " he managed, and Severus cut him off.

"Not now, Boot; we'll talk when you come back later for your detention."

Boot frowned, but obeyed, picking up his books and his cauldron. Severus felt a flicker of sympathy for the boy; but he had another class, now, and if he were being completely honest, after what the Owens bastard had implied, Boot was the very  _last_  person Severus wanted to be looking at in that particular moment, despite the fact that he knew the implications — all of them — were false.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

When Boot returned, that evening, he had regained his usual composure. Still, his jaw set when he entered Severus' office, and faced the professor across the surface of his desk.

"I don't understand why you've given me a detention," Boot said, steadily, "You know exactly why I reacted that way; and I'm certain you realise I most likely wasn't  _actually_  going to curse Owens."

"Yes," Severus said, evenly, "I do know precisely why you reacted as you did. I also didn't think you were actually going to curse Owens; my understanding, though, is that we aren't definitively ruling it out?"

Boot blinked. "I suppose that really depends," he said, "On what else he has to say. And speaking of having things to say… I don't see how  _my_  reaction is really any different from you taking  _fifty_  house points…"

"It's not," Severus said, quite calmly, "Ah - except for one difference, perhaps. I acted knowing that I was doing so only for my own satisfaction."

"That's not…" Boot shook his head. "I just don't want that kind of rubbish getting back to Calista; she doesn't need to hear that, on top of everything else. That's why I wanted to shut him up."

"I assure you, Mr. Boot, she's already heard it."

Boot frowned. "It's just horribly unfair, sir. If only they could see… she was more upset than  _anyone_. She'd never hurt Penny — she'd never hurt any of them. She's been researching all year, trying to  _stop_  the attacks — and she does so many extra patrols…"

"Yes, well," Severus said meaningfully, and a bit drily, "I think perhaps her motives for the latter aren't  _entirely_  altruistic. To address the matter of fairness, though: you're correct, it is 'horribly unfair', but it's hardly the first time Calista has been judged unfairly by people who don't know her, and don't care to, and I'm certain it won't be the last. More importantly,  _she_  knows it won't be the last time. She doesn't like it, any more than you or I do, but she can handle it. She doesn't need you — or I, for that matter — to handle it for her. Though, to be perfectly frank, if you do decide to curse Owens for your own personal satisfaction, I'm inclined to look the other way."

Severus watched Boot's expression shift briefly into confusion, and then clear.

"This isn't a real detention, is it, Professor?"

"No, I suppose it's not. You're free to go now, if you wish."

Boot nodded, and shifted; but then he hesitated.

"Professor, is she… is Calista… I mean, of course she's not  _all right_ , none of us are, but — is she doing any better, since Saturday?"

Severus frowned, slightly. "Didn't you speak with her Sunday, during your patrol?"

"Well, I tried to, obviously. At dinnertime  _and_  during patrols. Yesterday, in Arithmancy, as well… but…" Boot shrugged a bit hopelessly, visibly unhappy. "She won't say much, except that she's fine. Only… I don't believe it. I don't think she is."

"You said yourself," Severus replied, noncommittally, "That none of you are."

"We're not," Boot agreed, grimly, "But we're all — Amelia, Percy, all of us Ravenclaws, the other Prefects — we're all talking about it. It doesn't change anything, I suppose, but at least we're trying not to let anyone feel alone. Calista won't talk; every time any of us try, she just… withdraws.  _Especially_  from me. She won't… she won't really talk to me at all, and honestly, I'm afraid I might have said or done something to upset her even more, only I can't think what it could possibly be."

Severus regarded the boy, consideringly. Boot looked steadily back; his concern was evident in his face, in the soft pull of a frown, and the near-constant wrinkle in his brow. Experimentally, Severus tested, attempting to read any thoughts that might be skimming on the surface of the young man's mind — but as was typically the case, there was nothing there, nothing he could glean without resorting to actually using his wand, and performing proper legilimency.

He wondered briefly, and certainly not for the first time, precisely how strong of an Occlumens the boy was, if he'd had any sort of training or practise, or if he simply relied on a natural affinity. There was no doubt the boy  _did_  know what he was; he couldn't possibly have lent that book to Calista if he didn't. He wondered, too, if Calista knew — if Boot had told her, or if she'd figured it out, the way he had.

He would have liked to test the boy properly, assess how strong his abilities really were. He supposed he might have offered, possibly even trained him some if Boot were interested, back before he and Calista had really become friends - possibly, even, when they  _were_  simply friends. But there was no question that if he offered it now, even if Boot agreed to it, Calista would be furious with him for the invasion.

Boot regarded him stoically, during the entirety of Severus' musings, his searching gaze, so much so that it occurred to Severus that the boy might very well know what Severus was attempting to do. He made a decision, in that instant, and did his best to ignore the tugging feeling of loss that threatened to invade his gut.

"Calista hasn't spoken to me very much, either, about the attack on Miss Clearwater," he said, almost petulantly. "But I know her better than you do; I know her better than anyone does."

"I don't doubt that, sir."

Severus forced himself into an iron composure; it was bad enough that he had decided to help the boy, to clue him in on something that had taken Severus several agonising years to work out for himself — it would be even worse if Boot  _knew_  how much he was railing, internally, against the decision, even though it was obviously the correct one. Not for himself — gods knew it didn't feel best for  _him_  — but it would be best for Calista, especially since he knew, more acutely than she did, how badly she would need people to trust, once she regained her missing memory, and that day was creeping closer by the minute.

"I'm going to make a guess," Severus said, quietly; he was pleased with the even quality of his tone. "That something happened between you and Calista, in the last few days; something you may not even have realised was significant. She learned something about you, or — more likely — you learned something about her. Something painful, perhaps, or something that frightens her; something that made her feel, in a word:  _vulnerable_."

He could see, halfway through his speech, a flicker of confirmation in Boot's eyes; the boy nodded.

"Yes," he said, and his voice strained slightly, "There was something, but… I've been giving her space, like I know she wants; I just don't know how much  _longer_  I can go on like this, not talking at all…"

"Well, don't."

Boot blinked. "Erm… excuse me, sir?"

" _Don't_ ," Severus repeated, "Don't let her withdraw; if you keep letting her push you away, that's the only way she'll ever respond."

"But," Boot frowned, "I can't  _make_ her talk to me…"

"No," Severus agreed, only just managing to keep an edge of bitterness out of his tone, "You can't; I know that all too well. But you can talk to  _her_ ; tell her that you are available if she does want to talk…"

"I do that already," Boot insisted earnestly, "But — it doesn't seem to help."

"And tell her that you don't think any less of her for whatever it is that you learned about her," Severus finished, as if the boy hadn't interrupted.

Boot blinked. "Of course I don't… of course I  _wouldn't_."

"Did you tell her that?" Severus pressed.

"Well… no, I suppose I didn't; but I don't see how she could possibly think that my opinion  _of_  her would change because of something that was done  _to_ her."

"It's difficult to understand," Severus agreed, and now he was the one sounding a bit grim, "But — as I told you at the beginning of this conversation,  _I know Calista_ ; and I know that when she withdraws, there's usually a measure of self-protection involved. I can nearly guarantee that something happened, or one of you said something, that - logical or not - she thinks might change your opinion of her. She thinks you might… judge her, or reject her, and… she'd rather do it first."

He could see Boot digesting the information, working it around in his mind - perhaps comparing it to previous incidents, prior instances of her pushing him away; finally, he nodded, resolved.

"I think I'm beginning to understand," he said, "And I think I know what I need to say to her."

The boy drew in a breath, and met Severus' gaze. "Thank you."

"What do you want with her?" Severus said, suddenly, with a fierce sort of intensity; he hadn't meant to ask the question, especially not so boldly, but once he did, he was perversely glad that he had. It seemed suddenly very important for him to know that he hadn't made a mistake, in giving the boy such a critical clue towards securing and maintaining Calista's trust.

"I want to talk to her," Boot said, uncertainly, "To… make her feel a bit better, if possible, but primarily, just… not so alone."

"That's not what I meant," Severus said, quietly.

He saw comprehension dawn in Boot's eyes; he  _was_ a bright lad, Severus couldn't fault him in that regard.

"You're asking what my intentions with Calista are," Boot clarified, "Long-term?"

Severus nodded tightly. "I am."

Boot swallowed. "If you asked me before Saturday, I might have been able to answer that question," he said, and the boy's tone was once again grim. "Now — right now I think my only  _intention_  is to get both of us through what's happened to our friend."

Severus regarded him a moment longer, and then nodded, tightly.

"That's fair enough," he said, softening slightly despite himself, and then he added, as a reminder, the same thing he'd been telling Calista every day since Saturday: "The mandrake draught won't take much longer; a few weeks at most."

Boot took a shaky breath, and nodded. "Sir… Calista told me she gave you our notes. Did you… were you able to find anything helpful?"

"Not yet; I haven't made it all the way through, yet. The two of you were quite… prolific, in your research."

"If there's anything else I can do to help, sir…"

"I'll be certain to let you know."

Boot nodded, a final time, and made to take his leave.

"One more thing, Mr. Boot," Severus said, "You should know that when this business with the Chamber has been resolved — when the victims have been cured, and the safety of the school is ensured — I will ask you again about your intentions, and I will expect an answer."

Boot looked briefly back over his shoulder, and met the professor's gaze for an instant.

"That's fair enough," he said quietly. Then he left, closing the door softly behind him.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

On Wednesday, Calista skipped breakfast and dinner; she would have skipped lunch, had Severus not found her in the middle of the day and demanded she take it with him. She had half a mind to skip her patrol, as well, not least of all because of how awkward she'd felt on Sunday, when Gerald had been trying to make small talk when she  _knew_  he had to be thinking of what she'd told him… of what she'd seen.

Still, she knew she couldn't actually skive off her patrol; not when her worst fear had already come true, and one of her friends had been attacked —  _near the library_ , of all places, along  _her_  patrol route, though not when she was scheduled to be on it. Besides, if she didn't go, then Gerald would have to patrol alone, and she couldn't put him in danger like that, even if she was fairly certain that he was probably now regretting his decision to request her on his patrols this year.

She slipped into the library in the evening, feeling lost without the familiar weight of a book under her arm; she had turned their chamber research over to her father, and it didn't seem right, somehow, to work on any of her independent projects during her patrols anymore.

Gerald came over to her right away, just as he had done on Sunday; only this time, instead of asking a dozen questions about how she was feeling and how she was coping — questions she answered in precisely the same way:  _I'm fine_  — he reached for her hand, and started to guide her, gently, towards the door.

"I think we should check the corridors," he said, matter-of-factly. "Madame Pince is standing guard over the Restricted Section now, anyway."

She nodded, but withdrew her hand from his, following him out instead; her intention was to trail a step or two behind him, but he didn't seem to want to let that happen. He kept pausing when she did, and waiting for her to draw level with him before he continued on. She wondered if it was some new protocol for the patrol routes, that they had to walk precisely side-by-side; Severus had been doing it to her, too.

They walked in silence for several minutes; Calista supposed Gerald had finally given up on trying to talk to her about what had happened on Saturday. Then, nearly as soon as she'd had the thought, they rounded another corner, and Gerald stopped, and reached for her hand again.

"Calista," he started, and she scowled; this was it, then. He'd had time to think about what she'd said in the hospital wing, to decide that he didn't want to be involved with someone who was not only the daughter of a murderer, but had  _seen_  some of those murders firsthand… had been there, and hadn't done anything to stop them from occurring…

She snatched her hand back, and opened her mouth; it was the last thing she wanted to do, but perhaps — perhaps it wouldn't be quite so heartbreaking, if  _she_  broke up with  _him_  first…

Before she had time to think of precisely what to say, Gerald reached for her hands again, both of them this time, and he held them more firmly. He pulled her gently towards him by her hands, until they stood nearly nose-to-nose, and she was looking directly into his eyes; she was so stunned by the decisive movement, the sure grip on her hands, that she didn't immediately pull away.

"Calista," he said again, quietly; his eyes were so warm and soft that for the first time, she questioned if she had it wrong. Perhaps he  _didn't_ hate her for what she'd told him…

"I know you're not fine," he continued, in the same soft voice; his thumb moved lightly over the back of her hand, though he didn't loosen his grip. "None of us are."

"I'm —" she started, but Gerald interrupted her.

"You're not fine," he said again, firmly, "And no one expects you to be. However you feel — angry, sad, frightened — it's all right to feel that way. We all do."

"I know."  _That's not what I'm afraid to talk about._

"Why are you afraid to talk about it with me, then?" Gerald asked, as if he'd read her mind.

She pressed her lips into a line; she didn't want to lie to him, so she decided not to answer at all.

"I hope you know," he said quietly, after a moment, "That nothing that happened on Saturday makes me feel any different about  _you_."

"You're lying," she said, immediately, bitterly, even though she saw no sign of it on his face.

"Why would I feel differently about you?" he asked, evenly, as if he were asking her why a bezoar wasn't necessarily the best cure for a minor poison, or why runic shapes sometimes differed between languages in the same family.

"I was there," she said, woodenly, letting her gaze fall to the floor. If he was going to break up with her, or even refuse to be her friend, what difference did it make if it happened now or in a few days? How much time could she really continue to buy with her avoidance? "I was there, and I didn't do anything to stop her, and now you know that."

"Your mother." Gerald guessed; only it didn't  _sound_  like a guess. It sounded like he was only confirming that they were talking about the same thing.

"Yes," Calista snapped, suddenly deciding she  _did_  want to keep avoiding this conversation, after all. " _Her_. Who else could I possibly mean? And anyway, we're supposed to be patrolling -"

"I know, Calista. I'd rather talk about this when we're not on patrol; but you've been avoiding me, so I can't."

"Haven't you realised that the fact that I don't want to talk about it is precisely why I've been avoiding you?"

"Yes," he said, and he squeezed her hands; she glanced up, and something in his gaze managed to hold hers. "I do realise that; and you don't have to talk about it. But you did promise me, not very long ago, that you would listen to me if  _I_  wanted to talk; is that still the case?"

She swallowed, and nodded.

"Good," he murmured, "Because there's something I have to tell you."

She set her jaw, so that if whatever he had to say  _was_  bad news, despite the unwavering warmth in his eyes, she would be prepared; she wouldn't cry.

"Every bad thing that she did was  _her_  fault. Her choice. Her actions. Not yours. You know that; you were the one who reminded  _me_  about that, when I told you how my father tried to trick me into dropping the protections we had against him."

"It's not the same," she whispered, hopelessly; she wished it were. "I could have…" she trailed off; she didn't know precisely what she could have done, only that the guilt welled up in her whenever she thought about it.

"She was arrested in 1982," Gerald said quietly, "I looked it up again today; More than ten years ago, Calista. That would have made you six years old, or even younger, when she did all those horrible things. You didn't even have magic yet; there was  _nothing you could have done_."

She blinked. "I could have —"

"No," Gerald interrupted, "Whatever you're going to say, no you couldn't have. And I  _hope_  — I hope it wasn't something in the way I reacted that's making you feel this way, but I'm afraid it might be. I'm sure I seemed — horrified, because I was. I am. But not because of you; because of  _her_ , because of… what she  _did_  to you."

"That's not…" she managed, weakly; a string of images were trying to force their way into the forefront of her mind - her mother's cold fingers over her small ones, bending them around her wand, eyes going hungry, bidding her to hurt them too - what would Gerald think, if she told him  _that_? If she told him that it was likely the only reason she didn't was because she  _couldn't_ ; if she'd had the ability to, she thought she might have done anything, to avoid making her mother angry…

"That's not all that happened," she whispered, tugging her hands away from his; this time, she succeeded in freeing them. She took a step back, and a deep breath in, and gathered the images, forcing them beneath the surface, behind her walls.

Warm, steadying hands gripped her shoulders, suddenly; and then, somehow, she was looking into Gerald's eyes again, and their foreheads were nearly touching.

"You promised to listen to me," he said, "And now I'm going to promise you something; I promise that there's nothing she could have done to you that will make me think any less of you."

"You can't —" she said, and her heart was pounding, with something even more dangerous than fear; it was pounding with  _hope_ , that he could possibly truly mean what he was saying. "You can't promise that; you don't know…"

"I can promise that," he said, stubbornly, "And I am."

Something shifted, or melted, or broke, in Calista's chest; it felt like he'd unlocked a door, and now all of the fear and pain and heartbreak of the last few days was rushing out of it; she felt her eyes start to sting, and she closed them for a minute, willing herself not to cry  _now_ , not in front of him — but it was no use, it was already happening.

She felt one of his hands lift from her shoulder, and then there was a light, soft pressure against the delicate skin under her eye; her eyes flew open, and she realised that Gerald was even closer now, that their noses were only a centimetre apart, and that the soft feeling she'd felt near her eye was his fingertip, carefully brushing one of her tears aside.

It occurred to her that no one had ever touched that precise spot on her before; not that she could ever remember. She'd never let anyone get close enough.

She opened her mouth.

 _I love you_ , she almost said, and then she sucked in a breathy gasp, because the second she thought it, she realised that  _it was true_ ; that  _love_  was precisely the right word to describe the warm, full feeling that was curling up around her heart again, despite everything; and that her father and her aunt had been absolutely correct… she didn't need anyone to tell her that's what it was. She just… she just  _knew_.

"Please tell me," Gerald murmured, and she felt her heartbeat stutter; did he  _know_  somehow — had he lied, when he'd said he was only an Occlumens, that he couldn't read her thoughts — "Tell me what's hurting you."

He didn't know; her panic fled, and with it, her nerve. She opened her mouth again.

"Do you think — do you really think Penny's going to be all right?" she asked, words tumbling clumsily out of her mouth, as if they were in a race against the other words.

"I think so," Gerald said, and with the pad of his thumb he brushed another tear aside, right by the corner of her eye; she didn't think anyone had ever touched her so lightly, so very carefully, in all her life. "I hope so."

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Finally, on a Friday in late May, after a string of hollow days and sleepless nights, there was good news.

"I've just been to see Pomona," Severus told her, as he strode into his quarters several minutes later than they'd arranged to meet there, for dinner. "The mandrakes are ready for cutting; they'll announce it to the school in the morning."

Calista smiled, for the first time in weeks. "We'll be able to cure them tomorrow? Penny and — and all of them?"

"We'll complete the potion tomorrow. Would you like to come with me, to administer it? It is, after all, mostly your work."

"Maybe…" she hesitated; what if seeing Penny like that again, even for a moment, triggered her again?

She had a flash of a memory; but this time, it wasn't a bad one. She remembered a gentle touch, near her eye, a pair of serious, sincere brown eyes, that were not at all diminished in warmth by the pair of sensible square-framed spectacles she always saw them through.

"Can — can Gerald come, too? To… to give them the potion?"

"I suppose that can be arranged," Severus said, and if there was a slight odd inflection in his tone, neither of them mentioned it.

She slept well that night, for the first time in months. She had gone to Ravenclaw Tower, even though technically even she, as a Prefect, was not supposed to wander the corridors alone, especially at night, and she'd told them all, Gerald and Amelia and every other Ravenclaw that was in the common room.

She'd tried to find Percy, to tell him, too — Gerald had even brought her to the entrance of the Gryffindor common room, but the boy that had come out, Michael Owens, told them that Percy wasn't there; he'd seemed hostile, and Calista suspected he might be lying, but Gerald had reassured her, as they left.

"It's all right," he'd said, "We'll find him, and we'll let him know — if nothing else, I'm sure he'll be at breakfast tomorrow morning. I'll check a few more places before I go to bed, too, along his regular patrol routes, in case he's picked up an extra slot and forgotten to write it in."

"No," she'd corrected him, " _We'll_  check a few more spots; no one's supposed to walk through the corridors alone."

He'd agreed, and though they'd traced Percy's regular routes, they hadn't found him; they  _had_ , however, managed to find the easy companionship that had been evading them for weeks, even despite a few tender conversations. They held hands for most of their walk through the castle, and when he dropped her off, at the entrance to the Potions classroom, he'd even lifted her hand to his lips, and kissed her fingers gently.

Hope was palpable; and when Professor McGonagall announced to the entire school, in the morning, what Calista and most of the Ravenclaws already knew, that the mandrakes were ready and the Petrified victims would be cured later that very evening, it seemed to shine from the faces of almost every student in the Great Hall.

Calista hadn't been able to bask in it, however; she'd gone straight to her father's workroom after breakfast. Her Occlumency lessons still took place, in the form of probes and tests while she and her father stood side-by-side, carefully cutting the mandrakes and adding them to the infusion, but he'd cancelled her and Gerald's practice for the Poisons and Antidotes exam; not that it mattered, really, the exam was in two days, and they'd only been planning on going over their notes — they could do that later, once the victims were revived.

She was absorbed in stirring the mixture, hours later, when a magically magnified voice rang through the castle, causing her to start, and nearly drop the wooden spoon right into the cauldron.

" _All students return to their House dormitories at once_ ," came Professor McGonagall's disembodied voice, " _All teachers return to the staffroom. Immediately, please._ "

"Dad?" Calista asked, as the echo faded away, eyes going round, "Dad, what's going on?"

"It's probably nothing," Severus said grimly, "Perhaps — Perhaps Minerva just wants to check on the progress of the draught; she's been very impatient..."

"Then why would everyone need to go back to their common rooms?" she asked, "It doesn't make sense — it wouldn't — unless there's been another —"

"There hasn't been," Severus interrupted, before her mind could begin reeling in panic, "There can't have been; they've taken the culprit away. No, it's — it's bound to be something else."

She thought he sounded rather as if he were trying to convince himself, and she was sure of it when he gestured grimly to the cauldron behind her.

"Stay here," he told her, "And keep stirring that; it will spoil if you let it boil over."

"But she said all students back to their Houses... I should help —"

"No," Severus said, firmly, and she knew it was one of those times where there was no use arguing with him. "You will stay  _right here_ , until I return."

She heard him spell-lock the door at the top of the stairs behind him. She turned back to the cauldron and focused on stirring it; he was right, if she left it unattended over the flame, it — and all the months of work that had gone into it — would be ruined.

He was gone for a very long time; she was alerted to his return only after she had removed the cauldron from the flame, and was lining up several flasks along the edge of the counter to bottle it. The door at the top of the stairs creaked open, and his footsteps came down, heavily.

"Calista," he said, as he reached the bottom, and there it was again — the fear, the worry — she'd seen it after the last attack; her heart sunk. They were so close…

"Not another attack," she whispered, heavily, "Please tell me there hasn't been another attack…"

"I'm afraid there has been," he said, and, unbidden, an image of Amelia, frozen like Penny flashed across her mind. She shivered.

"The — the potion," she said, wildly, latching on to that comforting thought, "It's all right, the potion is done. I just have to finish bottling it, and then we'll bring it up to them right now…"

"No," Severus said, in a voice like ice, and he reached for her, putting one hand at her shoulder; the other, she saw now, gripped his wand, as if he were expecting an attacker to leap out of the shadows at any moment. "You're staying right here, with me, until the morning; and then, I'm taking you home, as soon as I've seen the rest of my students safely on the train."

" _What?_  The train — we still have exams, Dad, what are you talking about? And the potion… we've  _got_  to get the potion up to the hospital wing."

"I'll take care of the potion, in the morning," Severus said, "Calista, I mean it; whatever happens, whatever you might hear… I need you to stay with me."

"Dad?" she looked carefully up into his face; it was white, and his eyes looked unusually large, despite the hard lines etched around them. She thought he looked easily ten years older than he'd told her he was. "What's happened?  _What might I hear_?"

He didn't answer; he only made a small sound in his throat.

"Please tell me it wasn't Amelia," she whispered, and he shook his head.

"No," he said, gently, "It wasn't Amelia."

"Not — not Daisy?" she whispered, with growing dread, because it occurred to her suddenly that it could make sense; of course he would be this worried, this strained, if one of his  _own_  students had been attacked.

"No."

"It doesn't matter," she said, trying to convince herself, and then she reminded him, for the third time: "We have the potion; we just need to…"

Something in his face made her trail off. "Dad, what is it?"

Severus frowned, and the lines around his mouth deepened. "Calista… the potion… I'm afraid the potion isn't going to help the latest victim."

Her eyes went wide; she could feel herself start to tremble again, and even though he'd already said it  _wasn't_  Amelia, she could see her friend's eyes, her freckled face, blank and unseeing…her cheeks hollow, her skin gone the colour and lustre of day-old porridge…

"A girl has been taken into the Chamber," Severus told her, heavily, at last, "A first-year Gryffindor…"

" _Who_?" she practically yelled; and what did he mean,  _taken into the chamber?_

"Ginny Weasley has disappeared," he said, grimly, "And there was a message on the wall —  _Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever_  — Calista, no!"

She'd jerked away, and started to run; she had to find Percy, she had to… she had to do  _something_ , but she hadn't even made it a single step before Severus' grip was on her shoulder again, vise-like and unyielding.

"The monster, and its master, are still out there," Severus said, quietly, by her ear, "And I know you're upset, and you want to try and help your friends, but  _a pureblood girl was attacked_ , and I won't — I  _can't_  let you out of my sight."

"She's  _Percy's sister_ ," Calista wailed, yanking her shoulder free and wheeling around to face him, "We have to  _do_  something — I thought you said the culprit was gone!"

"There's nothing we  _can_  do," he said, harshly, gripping both of her shoulders again; she squirmed. For the first time she could remember, he was actually  _hurting_ her, his grip was so tight and ironlike. "I don't know where the entrance to the Chamber is; no one does. The  _only_  thing I can do is keep you safe, and to do that, I've got to make sure that you  _stay with me_."

"Dad," she protested again, wildly, "We can't — we have to — what if —"

 _What if the monster goes back, for the other victims?_  Her mind screamed at her,  _What if it attacks again, and again?_

" _Please_ ," Severus snarled harshly, choking on the word; his grip on her shoulders only tightened as she tried to slip free of it, "Don't run away."

A ribbon of memory unfurled in her mind, of a similar plea, made a long time ago, when she was small, and she'd been afraid that he had found out she was a Squib, that he was going to poison her, or take her back to Bellatrix… and somehow, that plea had been a hundred times lighter, and infinitely less desperate.

His fingers dug painfully into her shoulders, as if the monster was here, in his workroom, and was trying to pull her physically away from him; his eyes were as wide and dark as the lake, as wild as the forest. And that, suddenly, on top of everything else, was more than she could fight against.

"Fine," she said, hollowly; deflating. "I promise I'll stay right here, with you."

Gradually, as if he didn't believe her, or as if he hadn't realised just how tightly he'd been gripping her, he relaxed his hold, and she slipped wordlessly away, back towards the worktop to bottle the potions.

She expected her hands to shake at any moment, and was trying to fill the flasks before she wasn't able to; she expected an ocean of sadness to wash over her, a breaking tide that would be  _nothing_  compared to how Percy would feel —  _his sister was dead_  — but instead, she only felt the awful, gaping ache of numbness.

Perhaps there were things, she reflected, that were just too sad to feel; or, perhaps, she'd gone through so much sadness already that there was just none of it left for her, in the world.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Severus had not been exaggerating in the slightest when he'd told Calista he couldn't let her out of his sight; when she'd grown too anxious to withstand his constant, worried glare and had announced that she was going to try to get some sleep, he'd grimly told her to sleep in one of the chairs in his study, where he could stay with her. His alternative wasn't much better; she could sleep in her bed, if he dragged one of the study chairs in there and sat beside her.

She'd changed into her nightgown, a long, flowy one that she kept down here along with all of the other new clothes from Narcissa she'd been refusing to wear; now, it seemed stupid that she'd been so upset with her aunt, and that she'd somehow seen the clothes as representative of any part of their conflict. It was hard to see very many of the things she'd worried about in the past few years, other than the Chamber, as anything other than stupid. Even her mother seemed, during that long night, to be a very distant horror.

She couldn't sleep, though, even though she did try, curling her legs up underneath her in the more comfortable of his two chairs. Every time she tried, she could see nothing but blank gazes, those of the victims and those of imagined victims. She saw Penny again, and Amelia, and Daisy. She saw Percy's sister, and then Percy himself. She saw Gerald for an instant, those wonderful brown eyes blank and unseeing, and she leapt up, banishing the image from her mind as fiercely as she began to pace.

She stormed to the desk against the wall, yanked her father's drawer open, and withdrew the pile of notes she'd seen him stash there,  _her_  notes, and Gerald's, and she returned to the chair, combing through them as if she hadn't already done so a hundred times before.

"There's got to be something," she muttered, flipping frantically through the pages, "Something I missed before…"

Severus watched her, silently, from his perch in the other chair; she had to look up to reassure herself that he was still awake. He was, eyes fixed on her — or on some point beyond her — just as they'd been all night.

She landed on the page where they'd begun their list of magical beasts, the ones that could paralyse or kill instantly. They'd filled the page, all the edges and spaces, with as many notes as they could on each of the creatures.

 _Gorgons_ , she read, because that had always seemed like the closest fit,  _A single glance turns the victim immediately to stone._  Beside it, in her own handwriting was another note, in her own messy writing:  _Snake hair_ , she'd written,  _According to legend, anyway - keep in mind. Heir of Slytherin._

She remembered writing that, on a day when the whispers had seemed to follow her around; she thought it might have been shortly after one of the attacks. Gerald had frowned, and wanted her to cross that part out, reminding her that they'd already decided the attacks weren't coming from a student — but she'd insisted, with a bit of a dark look, that they'd better not rule out the possibility of it being  _something_  having to do with snakes… after all, that was certainly what the  _rest_ of the school thought…

Her eyes flicked to another snake-related entry, another one that she'd made.  _Basilisk_.  _Not likely; meeting one's gaze causes instant death. Venomous fangs too, not helpful, no bite marks._

There was another note beneath it, one she hadn't noticed before, in a familiar and much neater hand: Gerald's.

_Crow of rooster fatal; probably doesn't fit, Hogwarts keeps roosters. Spiders flee._

Calista blinked.  _Spiders flee_.

She remembered the day she'd been talking to Gerald, when she'd confessed about her family's probing into his background, his family; she'd been afraid to look at him, afraid he'd be hurt, or insulted… and so she'd stared at the ground, and hadn't she  _seen_  a little contingent of spiders, looking like they were running away from the castle? Hadn't she wanted to join them?

She checked their notes again, and the words were still the same:  _meeting one's gaze causes instant death_. She hadn't even had to look that up, she'd  _known_ that.

But… what if she was wrong? What if she and Gerald had had the right idea all along, what if there was some other  _type_  of basilisk, one that only Petrified…

She leapt up, and Severus tensed. When she strode over to one of the shelves, and began perusing the titles, he settled back into his chair.

She pulled down a book, the very same one she'd used to take her notes about the basilisk in the first place, and flipped to the page, but there was nothing new, nothing she didn't already know, nothing  _helpful_.

Still… now that it had occurred to her, the image of the spiders, scurrying quickly out of the castle as if they were being chased, couldn't quite be banished from her mind.

"Dad," she said, intently, "Have you ever heard anything about — about some kind of alternative breed of basilisk? One that… one that Petrifies, instead of killing?"

"No," he said, but he leaned forward, suddenly alert. "Why do you ask?"

"Spiders," she said, "I just saw the note Gerald made, and I can't believe I forgot about that — but it says spiders flee from basilisks, and I  _saw_  a bunch of spiders one day, and they weren't moving normally, they were… it looked like they were running away."

Severus drew a breath.

"I know it sounds mental," she said, "But now that I've thought of it, I can't  _stop_  thinking of it. Do you suppose there's  _any_  way there is such a creature?"

"I don't know," Severus said, grimly, "But we're going to find out." He rose, and went to the same section of shelving Calista had pulled the book she was holding from. He slipped a title out, a thick volume that she always skimmed right over, when she was checking the shelves; she couldn't remember what the title was, but she remembered it sounded boring. He set the book carelessly aside, and then slipped his wand into the space it had left behind, tapping the wall there.

The shelf swung open, revealing another set of shelves behind it; Calista's jaw dropped.

"You have a secret bookshelf you've been hiding from me?"

"Obviously," Severus said, and now he gestured towards it, with his free hand. "Go on, then; now's your chance."

She set the book she was holding down, on the edge of his study desk, and approached. The shelf was narrow, but positively crammed with all manner of fascinating books; books on Dark magic, on curses and all manner of horrifying things. There were a few books, also, that looked like they might relate to Legilimency. She wondered why he'd bother to hide those from her.

A cluster of books on a low shelf caught her eye; they were all about Dark creatures. She saw one, right by her knee, that was about breeding them. That certainly seemed to be a good place to start, if she was going to search for atypical species. She selected it, and a few others, reluctantly leaving the rest of the fascinating collection behind for the moment.

She took the book back to her chair, and flipped to the index.

 _Basilisks_ , she read, but there was only one entry, not the multiple entries she was expecting if there  _were_  different varieties. She flipped to that page anyway, pulling her notes closer, and began to write down every tidbit she found that might possibly be helpful; across from her, Severus had chosen a handful of volumes, and was doing the same thing.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Scarcely an hour later, a sharp knock came at the outer door of Severus' office; Calista started, looking up in a fog from her notes, and blinking rapidly. Severus leapt up, and strode to his office door. Wordlessly, she stood and followed him, still clutching her notes in her hand.

He opened both doors, wand drawn; when he opened it to see Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall standing on the threshold, he lowered it, cautiously.

"Albus…" he started; Calista blinked. When had he returned?

"The Heir of Slytherin has been stopped," the Headmaster said, gravely, even though his eyes were bright, "And its beast has been slain; Hogwarts will remain open."

"And now, I think," Professor McGonagall added, "We have an antidote to administer."

Professor Dumbledore filled Severus in on the details of what had been transpiring that night, while Calista hurried to gather the flasks she'd filled earlier with the mandrake draught. It was an incredible tale; Harry Potter and his friend had somehow found the entrance to the Chamber, and defeated the beast within.

The best part of the story — the part that sunk in for Calista first — was that Percy's sister, Ginny, had been rescued; no one was dead.

She followed behind Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall, walking beside her father and matching his pace; his hand was at her shoulder, but his grip was much lighter than it had been earlier in the night. He glanced at her meaningfully when Dumbledore described the enchanted diary that had ensnared Percy's sister; she remembered that she'd once scoffed at the idea of a book being dangerous, and ducked her head slightly.

They reached the hospital wing, and Calista hesitated outside the door. She remembered Penny's blank, unseeing state; what if the potion didn't work? What if she'd somehow mucked it up…?

She wished Gerald was here, as she'd asked her father if he could be, when they reawakened the victims; but then, it was the wee hours of the morning, of course Gerald was in bed, with the other students…

"Calista!" a very familiar voice called her name, and she looked down the corridor; incredibly, it  _was_  Gerald, accompanied by Professor Flitwick. "Calista, I've just heard — the Chamber's been closed, for good, they're going to reawaken the victims — everyone's going to be all right."

"I know," Calista started, feeling weak relief that he was here, that her father was here, and that — she reminded herself again —  _no one was dead_.

The group proceeded into the hospital wing, all of them; there was a brief, spirited discussion while Madame Pomfrey and Professor Sprout, who was already there, were filled in on what had happened; the flasks of potion were passed to her, and she busied about preparing the dosages.

"Thank you, Severus," she said, inspecting one of the flasks, "A perfect potion, as always. I'm certain this will do the trick."

"Ah, actually," Severus said, raising his voice slightly so that it could be heard over the continuing chatter of the Professors, "You should thank Calista; she's the one that brewed it."

Suddenly, she was the centre of attention; several pairs of eyes swivelled towards her. She took a step back, uncertainly, and looked down.

"Is that so?" Professor Dumbledore said, lightly; she glanced up, meeting his brilliant blue gaze. "In that case," he continued, "I do believe an award for Special Services to the School is in order."

She blinked. "What?"

The other teachers — Professor Sprout and Professor Flitwick, and even  _McGonagall_ were nodding in agreement. Gerald caught her eye, and grinned at her.

"Erm," she managed, "Shouldn't we make sure it works, first?"

She hadn't meant it as a joke, but they all seemed to take it that way; even Severus chuckled, briefly. They all fell silent, however, as Madame Pomfrey approached the first student's bedside, with a dose of the mandrake draught at the ready. She went to Penny first; Calista held her breath. She sensed motion at her right, and then Gerald was beside her, and he reached for her hand.

The potion worked almost instantly; nearly as soon as Madame Pomfrey had spooned it gently into Penny's mouth, she stirred. Calista gasped; Flitwick cheered.

Everything after that happened in a blur; Penny and the others all sat up — she knew she hugged Penny at some point, and so did Gerald; and then, at some point, Gerald hugged  _her_ , and she noticed for the first time that he was wearing pajamas; then she realised that  _she_  was wearing pajamas, and she was blushing furiously, even though, really, her nightgown from Narcissa was practically a dress.

And then — there was a hush of silence, as Professor Dumbledore addressed the reawakened victims solemnly.

"I have been informed," he said, "Of what manner of beast was found in the Chamber. However… in the interest of wrapping things up neatly, I'd be most obliged if you would kindly confirm what attacked you."

It was Penny and Hermione who spoke up first, nearly in unison:

"It was a basilisk, sir."

Calista's jaw dropped. Gerald's eyes went wide, too, and he nudged her.

"But," Calista managed, "They don't Petrify; they —"

"Kill, yes," Penny said, hurriedly; Calista was relieved that she didn't have to be the one to say it, "With a  _direct_  stare. But Hermione here figured out — no one, or no  _human_ , at least, had looked at it  _directly_. Colin saw it through his camera; Justin must have seen it through Nearly Headless Nick. Hermione warned me, just before we were attacked, and we were looking around corners with a hand mirror — we only saw its reflection."

There was another brief burst of chatter — the victims confirmed how they had been attacked, compared notes — and then, Dumbledore clapped his hands, and the infirmary fell silent again.

"I do think," he said, once he had everyone's attention, "That the only appropriate thing to do now — is to have a feast."

He made an announcement to the rest of the school, magically amplifying his voice, and then they left; Madame Pomfrey bustled them all out, insisting that she had to examine all of the victims before they could be released. The Professors disbursed, to lead the students from their Houses to the feast, and share the good news.

Calista started to follow Severus, and Gerald released her hand, reluctantly, making to follow Professor Flitwick.

"Filius," Severus said, after a brief glance at the pair, "It's my opinion that Calista and Mr. Boot have thoroughly fulfilled their Prefect duties this evening; I do think it would be all right for them to have a few moments to collect themselves, and then head directly to the feast - if you agree, of course."

Flitwick nodded enthusiastically, beaming at Gerald. "Yes, yes, I absolutely agree." he waved his hand. "Go on, my boy. You've done a commendable job tonight, helping me keep order."

"If you're quite certain, sir…" Gerald said, but he was already reaching for Calista's hand again; Professor Flitwick's glance flicked down towards their hands, and then back up.

"Oh, yes, I'm quite certain." he said, "Go on and enjoy the feast… with Miss Snape."

Then, the tiny professor  _winked_  at Gerald, and grinned merrily. Calista felt her face heating up again.

Soon, the two of them were alone in the corridor; once the footsteps of their professors had faded away, Gerald came around to face her, and reached for her other hand.

"You were right," he murmured, "A basilisk… you said that ages ago."

"Well, I wasn't  _really_  convinced until tonight," she told him, "When I was looking at our notes again, and I saw something  _you'd_  written — about the spiders fleeing — and then I remembered that I'd  _seen_  spiders, looking like that's exactly what they were doing… I was up, looking through books, only I was looking for some other  _kind_  of basilisk, still…"

"Well, we didn't know about the mirror," he pointed out, sensibly. "Still, that was awfully clever, to get as far as you did… and then the potion. It's a very complicated antidote."

"I didn't figure it out soon enough; it wasn't really that clever…"

"It was," Gerald said, firmly, and then he let go of her left hand, and slid his arm around her waist instead, pulling her close; she felt the warm, familiar glow start up inside her chest; her heart fluttered. "You are."

"Well, so are you."

He let go of her other hand, and brought his up to the side of her face; he brushed his fingers along her cheekbone, his touch gentle and light and almost unbearably delicate.

"You're clever," he murmured, "And brave, and strong, and fascinating…"

She knew her cheeks were on fire; she couldn't bring herself to care. She reached her hands up, and set one lightly against his chest. She put the other one at the side of  _his_  face, tracing along his jaw, with only slightly more pressure than he was using. He leaned forward, until their noses nearly touched.

"And…" he murmured, and he pulled back slightly; she saw his eyes move over her, up and down, and suddenly she could feel her heartbeat in every part of her body. " _Vous êtes belle, comme les étoiles; comme la mer. Une déesse, plutôt que d'un colibri._ "

She knew enough French by now, from interpreting his notes, to roughly translate.  _You're beautiful, like the stars, like the sea. A goddess, rather than a hummingbird._

She sucked in a breath. "I'm not…" she stammered, "I'm not… like any of those things…"

"You are," he said, again, and he leaned forward, and kissed her softly; she might not have felt as beautiful as the stars, but she did light up like one; and she might not have believed she was as beautiful as the sea, but a wave of something that  _was_  beautiful was crashing over her.

"Although," Gerald said, softly, when he had reluctantly lifted his lips away from hers, "I must admit; this was a lot more fun before you began understanding French."

She chuckled, relieved; she'd felt the words bubbling up again, the three words she'd almost said to him before — but she wasn't ready, just yet, so she said three other words, instead:

" _Je suis désolée_ ," she muttered, drily.  _I'm sorry._

Gerald laughed. "Your pronunciation is terrible," he teased, "It's good to know you  _aren't_  perfect, after all."

 _You might be_ , she almost said; but she wasn't ready to admit that, yet, either.

"We should… we should probably go to the feast now," she said, instead.

**(¯ˆ·.¸¸.·ˆ¯)**

Calista sat at the Ravenclaw table, sandwiched between Gerald and Amelia, and Penny on her other side, and Percy on  _her_  other side; if any of the Ravenclaws had a problem with her and Percy sitting among them, they certainly didn't say so, especially once Gerald told them all that  _she_  had brewed the potion that brought Penny and the others back.

"That's brilliant," a seventh-year Ravenclaw girl who had never even spoken to Calista before said, "The Mandrake draught is an extremely complex potion; I don't know anyone who's brewed one before."

"Well," Amelia said brightly, nudging Calista's elbow, "Now you do."

The Ravenclaw girl frowned softly. "It really is surprising," she said, a bit regretfully, "That you're not in Ravenclaw."

Amelia was saying something else to the girl, something about Calista having managed to enter Ravenclaw tower several times, but it was Gerald that Calista paid attention to, when he leaned over to murmur in her ear:

"I'm inclined to agree."

She turned her head to look at him.

"Actually," she said quietly, "I almost was, apparently. I was in Professor Dumbledore's office a few months ago, and I tried the hat on again; it told me it almost put me in Ravenclaw… but it thought, evidently, that I'd  _asked_  for Slytherin, somehow…even though I didn't, at least not intentionally."

"The Hat told me I could've gone to Hufflepuff," Gerald confessed, very quietly, so only she could hear, "I don't suppose it would've been awful, but — I'd rather my housemates didn't find out, all the same."

Calista quirked a small, wry smile. "You know, that's the  _one_  House the Hat never considered, for me. I guess it doesn't think I'm particularly kind or loyal."

"Or," Gerald said, quite seriously, "Perhaps it realised that you were even more of everything else."

Professor McGonagall was standing up again, and waving for silence.

"I have one more announcement," she said, and though the crowd didn't quite fall silent, they did at least fall quieter. "With the exception of Ministry-administered exams — that is, O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s — exams are cancelled this year, as a special treat to all of you —"

The applause was thunderous, except at the Ravenclaw table; many of the students began whispering, fearfully.

"But I've studied all  _year_ ," someone said, fretfully.

Amelia grinned widely. "Yeah, well, I guess we can stop now," she said, brightly.

"Amelia!" Penny admonished, and she looked fretful as well, "You know our sixth-year exams are a good predictor of N.E.W.T. success… I'm going to talk to Professor Flitwick, and see if they can re-instate our exams —"

"Don't you dare," Amelia said, firmly, "Or I'll Petrify you again, myself, until it's time to go home on the train."

"That's not funny," Percy frowned.

"Neither is what she said," Amelia countered, " _Request_ exams, honestly, are you mental?"

"Well," Gerald said, "They're not cancelling N.E.W.T.s - I'm certainly glad I've been studying."

He touched the back of Calista's hand. "Enjoy your break, though — no exams, that must be a relief."

"Actually," Calista met his gaze, a bit anxiously, "I'm inclined to agree with Penny — I was counting on this year's exams as N.E.W.T. preparation. Still.. Erm, don't tell Amelia I said that."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Gerald promised, "And don't worry, you'll do fine, you've got to be near the top of your year. Besides… if you're really  _that_  excited for exams, you're in luck — we've got the Poisons and Antidotes certification exam tomorrow, remember?"

"Actually," Calista frowned, and reached for Gerald's wrist. She turned it slightly, so she could read his watch. "At this point, it's  _today_."

He blinked. "You're right; do you reckon we have time to study a bit, beforehand? Perhaps at lunchtime?"

She nodded, just as Professor Dumbledore had risen, to make another announcement; Professor Lockhart had suffered from a backfired memory charm, and would not be returning to his teaching post the next year.

"You see," Gerald said, by her ear again, "You  _do_  have a shot at having a competent Defence professor, next year; I almost wish I was staying."

That, though, reminded Calista that he was  _not_. She reached for his hand, holding onto it under the table. "I  _do_  wish you were staying," she said, quietly.

Gerald offered her a sweet, sly sort of smile, and lifted their hands above the table.

"Don't worry," he said, "I've already thought of something… you know, it turns out there's no rule against Hogwarts  _alumni_  showing up for Hogsmeade weekends."

She felt her face light up; she grinned at him.

"That is, of course," he said, and he lifted her fingers to his mouth, and kissed them, in front of the entire Ravenclaw table; she felt her heart flutter. "Assuming that you'd like me to come."

"Of course I would," she managed, and she felt like — like all of the things he'd ever said she reminded him of; the stars, bright and full; the sea, sparkling and lively; even a hummingbird, light and free.

She had Gerald, and she'd even be able to see him next year; she had her friends, all of them, safe and sound; she glanced up at the staff table to remind herself that she also had her father, who cared about her so fiercely that he had been unwilling to let her out of his sight when there was danger.

With all of that, it was heard to feel anything but happy, even when Dumbledore inevitably awarded an obscene amount of points to Gryffindor, granting them the House Cup for the second year in a row. Even the thought of the silvery, twinkling vial of her worst memory, waiting in the Headmaster's office for her to reclaim it — even  _that_  wasn't enough, on that night, to dim her spirits.


End file.
